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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


A  WIFE  WITHOUT  A  SMILE 


A  WIFE  WITHOUT 
A    SMI  LE      oe     *se 

A  Comedy  in  Disguise 

In  Three  Acts 


By 
ARTHUR  W.  PINERO 


All  rights  reserved  under  the  International  Copyright  Act. 
Perfor?nance  forbidden  and  right  of  representation  reserved. 
Application  for  the  right  of  performing  this  play  may  be  made 
to  the  publishers. 


BOSTON 

WALTER  H.   BAKER  &  CO. 

LONDON 

WILLIAM    HEINEMANN 

MCMV 


A  Wife  Without  a  Smile 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
ARTHUR  W.  riNERO 


All  rights  reserved 


PLEASE  READ  CAREFULLY. 

The  acting  rights  of  this  piny  are  reserved  by  the  author. 
Performance  is  strictly  forbidden  unless  his  express  consent  has 
first  been  obtained,  and  attention  is  called  to  the  penalties  pro- 
vided by  law  for  any  infringements  of  his  rights,  as  follows: — 

"  Sec.  4966: — Any  person  publicly  performing  or  representing  any 
dramatic  or  musical  composition  for  which  copyright  has  been  obtained, 
without  the  consent  of  the  proprietor  of  said  dramatic  or  musical  composi- 
tion, or  his  heirs  and  assigns,  shall  be  liable  for  damages  therefor,  such 
damages  in  all  cases  to  be  assessed  at  such  sum,  not  less  than  one  hun 
dred  dollars  for  the  first  and  fifty  dollars  for  every  subsequent  perform 
ance,  as  to  the  court  shall  appear  to  be  just.  If  the  unlawful  perform 
ance  and  representation  be  wilful  and  for  profit,  such  person  or  persons 
shall  be  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor,  and  upon  conviction  be  imprisoned  for 
a  period  not  exceeding  one  year." — U.  S.  Revised  Statutes,  Title  bo, 
Chap.  3. 


W  I 


A   Wife   Without  a  Smile 


THE  PERSONS  OF  THE  PLAY 

Seymour  Rippingill. 
Haynes  Webbmarsh. 
Vivian  Trood. 
John  Pullinger. 
Foley. 


Mrs.  Rippingill. 
Mrs.  Webbmarsh. 
Mrs.  Lovette. 
Bates. 


Scene — the  Boat-house  in  the  grounds  of  Mr.  Rip- 
pin  gi  IV  s  residence  at  Taplow.  Time — a  week-end 
in  July. 


7571 54 


ADVERTISEMENT 


As  it  is  quite  uncertain  at  what  point,  if  at  any,  the  in- 
terest of  this  piece  commences,  the  audience  is  respectfully 
requested  to  be  seated  at  the  rise  of  the  curtain. 


A  Wife  Without  a  Smile 


THE  FIRST  ACT 

The  scene  is  a  room  in  a  "boat-house"  belonging  to  a 
villa  at  Taplow.  On  the  left  is  a  double-door.  When 
this  door  is  open  a  dwarf  wall  is  seen,  forming  the  em- 
bankment of  the  garden  and  running  in  a  direct  line 
away  from  the  spectator  into  the  distance.  On  the  ex- 
treme left,  parallel  with  this  wall,  is  the  opposite  side 
of  the  river.  The  garden  is  represented  as  being  some 
eighteen  feet  above  the  river  level,  and  that  part  of  the 
embankment-wall  nearest  to  the  audience  is  supposed  to 
end  in  a  flight  of  steps  leading  down  to  the  actual  boat- 
house  and  the  river-bank.  At  the  back  of  the  room 
there  is  a  deep  bay-zaindow  with  cushioned  seats ;  and 
on  the  right  is  an  archway  admitting  to  a  hall  of 
moderate  size,  in  which,  opening  from  extensive 
grounds,  is  another  door. 

The  walls  and  ceiling  of  the  room  are  of  polished 
wood,  the  ceiling  being  supported  by  beams.  A  cottage 
piano  and  a  music-stool  stand  on  the  right  of  the  bay- 
window.  Also  on  the  right  are  an  armchair,  a  small 
table,  and  a  settee  ;  and,  against  the  wall,  a  sideboard 
and  a  smoking-table.  Some  dishes  of  fruit  and  the  re- 
mains of  the  more  substantial  items  of  a  morning 
meal  are  on  the  sideboard,  and  on  the  smoking-table  are 
boxes   of  cigarettes  and  cigars,  an  array  of  pipes,  a 

7 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

match-stand,  and  a  jar  of  tobacco.  On  the  left,  laid 
for  breakfast,  is  a  large  oval  table  at  which  a  settee 
and  three  chairs  supply  seats  for  five  persons ;  and 
further  to  the  left,  against  the  wall,  is  a  writing-table. 
Other  articles  of  furniture,  of  a  light  kind,  occupy 
spaces  not  provided  for  in  this  description. 

A  telephone  is  attached  to  the  wall  at  the  back,  on 
the  right.  The  window- seat  is  strewn  with  news- 
papers and  magazines.  Head-gear  in  great  variety 
hangs  on  a  hat-stand  in  the  hall. 

Just  outside  the  hall-door  a  garden-ladder  rests 
against  a  veranda  which  surrounds  the  house. 
Creepers  cling  to  the  veranda.  The  window  and  the 
hall-door  are  open  and  the  sun  is  shining  brilliantly. 

[Note  :_"  Right "  and  "  Left,'''  unless  expressly 
stated  to  be  the  right  or  left  of  a  personage  in  the  play, 
are  the  spectators'  right  and  left,  not  the  actor's.'] 

[Avis  (Mrs.  Rippingill),  Christabel  (Mrs. 
Webbmarsh),  Haynes  Webbmarsh,  Seymour 
Rippingill,  and  Mrs.  Lovette  are  seated 
at  the  table  on  the  left,  finishing  breakfast. 
Avis  is  at  the  head  of  the  table,  facing  the 
spectator ;  Christabel  and  Rippingill  are 
on  her  right,  Webbmarsh  and  Mrs.  Lovette 
on  her  left.  The  ladies  are  in  dainty  summer 
gowns,  the  men  in  flannels.  Foley,  a  manser- 
vant, is  busying  himself  at  the  sideboard ;  pres- 
ently, carrying  a  tray  laden  with  breakfast- 
things,  he  withdraws,  passing  through  the  hah 
and  disappearing  into  the  garden.  Rippingill 
is  at  the  end  of  a  funny  story  and  everybody  is 
more  or  less  amused  except  Avis,  whose  face 
wears  an  expression  of  settled  melancholy. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  9 

RIPPINGILL. 

[A  volatile,  yet  precise,  little  gentleman  of  forty-four. .] 
Ha,  ha  !  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
\A  handsome  woman  of  uncertain  age,  bright  and  pre- 
possessing.]     Ha,   ha,    ha,    ha!      Nonsense'    it   couldn't 
have  happened  ;  it's  impossible. 

Rippingill. 

Pardon  me  ;  many  things  are  improbable,  nothing  is 
impossible. 

Christabel. 
[A  sparkling  brunette,  two  or  three  years  senior  to  AviS.J 
What  did  the  man  do  ? 

Rippingill. 
Apologized  profusely.     What  could  he  do  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

[Fivc-and-thiriy,  tall,  lean,  curly-headed,  moustached.\ 
And  she — the  lady ? 

Rippingill. 

Fled  down-stairs  and  jumped  into  a  passing  hansom. 
I  won't  answer  another  question.      Ha,  ha — ha ! 

\His  laughter  flickers  out,  extinguished  by  A  vis's 

silence,  and  he  exchanges  glances  with  Mrs. 
Lovette  and  shrugs  his  shoulders. 

Webbmarsh. 

Congratulate  you,  Seymour.     Quite  up  to  high-water 
mark. 

Christabel. 

[To  Rippingill.]    Your  stock  is  inexhaustible  ;   and 
you  are  such  a  wonderful  mimic. 


10  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMITE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[To  Avis.]    You  don't  hear  this  to-day  for  the   fust 
time,  that  is  evident,  Mrs.  Rippingill. 

Avis. 

[A  pretty,  childlike  young  woman  of  ihree-and-iwenty, 
with  an  abundance  of  fair  hair,  turning  doleful  eyes  upon 
Mrs.  L.OVETTE.J    Yes,  I've  not  heard  it  before. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Really  ! 

Rippingill. 
{Wiping  his  brow.]    Phew!    [To  Christabel.J    More 
strawberries  ? 

Christabel. 
No,  thanks. 

Rippingill. 
[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]    Dora?    I  insist. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Three  or  four.     They're  delicious. 

Rippingill. 
[Rising.]    My  own  growing.    [In  a  whisper,  as  he  takes 
her  plate.]    Now  !  your  tale  of  old  Lady  Whitstable  and 
the  pickled  salmon  !  try  it ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Also  in  a  whisper.]    I  can't.     She  paralyzes  me. 

Rippingill. 
For  my  sake,  dear  friend.     It's  irresistible.     [Aloud, 
moving  to  the  sideboard.]    I   am  begging   Mrs.    Lovette 
to  give  us  her  story  of  a  supper-party  at  old  Lady  Whit' 
stable's. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  11 

Webbmarsh. 

Ah  !  capital. 

[Rippingill,  standing  at  the  sideboard,  watches 
Avis  eagerly.  He  spoons  strawberries  on  to 
Mrs.  Lovette' s^/c?/<?,  letting  some  of  them  fall 
to  the  floor. 

Christabel. 
Old  Lady  Whitstable— she  is  still  alive,  isn't  she  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Alive  !     I  was  playing   Bridge   with  her  for  an  hour 
yesterday.     She's  only  eighty-seven. 

Webbmarsh. 
Only ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Oh,  a  widow  may  live  to  any  age,  when  she's  properly 
provided  for.     I  intend  to  do  so,  frankly. 

Christabel. 

You  hear  that,  Haynes  ?     I  hope  you  are  insuring  your 
life  heavily. 

Webbmarsh. 

Not    I.     A    literary  gent    is  entitled  to  die  without  a 
farthing. 

Christabel. 
Heartless ! 

Webbmarsh. 
What  about  widowers,  Mrs.  Lovette  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
They  generally  shorten  their  lives  by  remarrying. 


12  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Webbmarsh. 
Alerci.     I'll  remember  your  warning. 

Christabel. 

[Holding  out  her  hand  lovingly. \  Haynes,  don't  chaff". 
I  can't  bear  it. 

Webbmarsh. 
{Pressing  her  hand.  J    Forgive  me,  Christabel. 

Rippingill. 

\Impatiently.\  Yes,  yes,  yes — but  Lady  Whitstable's 
supper-party 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Well,  the  incident  arose  out  of  a  little  supper  at  her 
house  in  Onslow  Gardens 

Rippingill. 
Ha,  ha  !  ho,  ho  !     This  is  exquisite.     Listen,  Avis. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

The  function  took  place  in  her  bedroom  ;  they  can't 
move  her,  you  know 

Avis. 

[Rousing  herself.  |  Talking  of  bedrooms,  I've  forgotten 
to  ask  if  you  were  comfortable  in  yours  last  night,  Mrs. 
Lovette. 

Rippingill. 
[Dropping  strawberries. .]    Tscht,  tscht,  tscht ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Chilled.]    Oh — oh,  most  comfortable. 

Avis. 
Some  people  loathe  a  strange  bed. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  13 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Advancing,  the  plate  of  strawberries  in  his  hand.} 
Avis,  Avis — Lady  Whitstable  and  the  pickled  salmon. 
Now,  consider  for  a  moment,  my  pet — reflect.  What  a 
grotesque  contrast!  A  tine,  crusted  specimen  of  our 
English  aristocracy  and — pickled  fish  !  The  mere  con- 
templation of  two  images  so  violently  opposed  in  itself 
makes  for  mirth.      Doesn't  it,  dearest? 

Avis. 
\Meekly.\    I  suppose  it  does,  Seymour. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Suppose!     How  obvious!    [In   Mrs.   Lovette's   ear 
as  he  places  the  strawberries  before  her  A    Go  ahead. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Well,  on  this  particular  occasion 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[To  Rippingill.]    Be  quiet !     [Resinning.]     On  this— 

on   this   particular — on   this [Breaking  down  under 

Avis's  pensive  gaze.]    Oh,  gracious  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Hey  ?     What's  wrong  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Weakly.]    I — I've  been  put  off  it. 

RlPPINGILL. 

No,  no  ! 

Webbmarsh  and  Christabel. 

Please  

[  There  is  a  knock  at  the  door  on  the  left. 


14  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Raising  his  voii  e.  |    Who's  there  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

f  To  RlPPINGILL,  as  the  others  turn  their  heads  towards 
the  door.]    Incurable  ! 

[The  door  opens  and  Vivian  Tkood  presents  him- 
self, his  blazer  on  his  arm,  his  shirtsleeves 
rolled  back  to  his  elbows.  He  is  a  good-look^ 
ing,  boyish  young  man  of  six-and-twenty,  lofty 
and  supercilious  in  manner. 

Tkood. 
Morning.     Am  I  in  the  way  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

In  the  way  !  [Pointing  to  the  breakfast-tab le.\  We 
kept  a  vacant  place  for  you  on  the  chance 

Trood. 
[Putting  on  his  jacket.]    Sorry.    [Shaking  hands  with 
Avis  and  Christabel.  ]    Morning.    [Nodding  to  Web-h- 
marsh.]    How  d'ye  do? 

Wf.p.p.marsh. 
How  are  you  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[To  Mrs.  Lovette,  who  is  eating  her  strawberries.] 
Let  me  introduce  my  young  friend  Mr.  Trood— Mrs. 
Lovette. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Delighted. 

RlPPINGILL. 

One  of  our  rising  artists. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  15 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

But  not  an  early  rising  artist,  eh  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ha,  ha,  ha  !     Good  !     You  missed  that,  Avis. 

Avis. 
[Dully.]    Missed  what,  Seymour? 

RlPPINGILL. 

H'm— never     mind.     [Going    to    the    smoking-table.\ 
Pipes  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

[To  Avis. J    May  I ? 

Avis. 
Of  course. 

Webbmarsh. 
[Joining  Rippingill  and  filling  hh  pipe  from  the  to- 
bacco-jar.] 

•  •  bublime  tobacco  !  which  from  east  to  west, 
Cheers  the  tar  s  labor  or  tiie  Turk man  s  rest." 
Byron. 

Rippingill. 

'•Whose  spreading  evil  7ve—ah — we  must  learn   to 
smother, 
Or  stunt  the  schoolboy  and  unsex  his  mother: 
Rippingill !     Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The  readiness  of  the  creature  ! 

The  Webbmarshes. 
Admirable  ! 


16  A    WIFE   WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Trood. 

[Seating  himself  in  the  armchair.]  I  dropped  in  to  in- 
quire what  the  arrangements  are  for  this  morning — 
whether  I  may  be  allowed  to  share  in  them. 

RlPPlNGILL. 

Your  fate  is  in  the  hands  of  the  ladies  :  I  have  to  be 
busy  with  my  head-gardener  until  lunch.  [Offering  him 
a  box  of  cigarettes.}    Ismalun's? 

Trood. 

{Producing  his  cigarette-case.]  Thanks;  I  prefer  my 
own.    [To  Avis.]    I  say,  Mrs.  Rippingill !     l.'ve  done  the 

deed. 

Avis. 
The  deed  ? 

Trood. 
Taken  on  my  cottage  at  Cookham  for  August. 

Rippingill. 
[Advancing  to  the  settee  on  the  right.]    Bravo  ! 

Christabel. 
The  sweet  little  nest  I  was  so  envious  over  yesterday  ! 

Rippingill. 
They've  stuck  you  pretty  considerably  ? 

Trood. 

Frightful. 

Rippingill. 
[Lighting  his  pipe.]    Pish  !  you'll  be  inspired  to  paint  a 
picture  that  will  make  your  fortune.     Corot,  and  that 
sort  of  caper,  what  ? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  17 

Trood. 
Oh,  I'm  full  of  ideas. 

Avis. 
|  To  Mrs.  Lovette.]    Shall  we  move? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Certainly. 

[Avis  and  Christabel  retire  to  the  bay-window, 
where  WEBBMARSH,  emitting  clouds  of  tobacco- 
smoke,  is  already  ensconced.  Mrs.  Lovette 
remains  at  the  table  for  a  few  moments,  brush- 
ing crumbs  from  her  dress  and  otherwise  putting 
herself  in  order. 

RlPPINGILL. 
Now,  I've  a   notion    for   the   composition   of  a   land- 
scape.    Ha,  ha  !  the  presumptuous  amateur  !     It  flashed 
across  me  after  our  recent  discussion  on  Symbolism  in 
Art 

Trood. 

[Rising.]    Yes,  but  we  won't  keep  the  ladies  hanging 
about.  b    ° 

RlPPINGILL. 

You're  right  ;  another  time 

[Trood  joins  the  group  at  the  window.  Mrs. 
Lovette  is  leaving  the  table. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[  Under  his  breath.  ]    Dora  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Eh? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Rising.  |    Sssh  !    [Drawing  her  towards  the  right.]    I 
confess  to  being  grievously  disappointed  at  the  failure  of 


18  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

your  inimitable  description  of  Lady  Whitstable  and  the 
pickled  salmon.  1  had  set  my  hopes  upon  it,  in  a  great 
measure. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Failure  !     You   can't  say  the  beastly  thing  failed  ;  it 
never  made  a  start. 

RlPPINGILL. 
True. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  didn't  catch  the  salmon,  much  less  pickle  it. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Perhaps  later  in  the  day 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Not  for  worlds.     She  freezes  my  spine,  that  glum  little 
wife  of  yours. 

RlPPINGILL. 

You  see  my  letters  have  not  overstated  the  case,  Dora. 
//  is  a  decided  defect  in  her  disposition  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Appalling.     To-morrow    is    Sunday,    too  !      1    feel    in- 
clined to  take  the  first  train  back  to  town. 

RlPPINGILL. 

In  mercy,  don't  !  You  heard  me  tell  young  Trood,  as 
an  excuse  for  my  remaining  at  home  this  morning,  that  I 
am  engaged  with  Phillips,  the  gardener? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Yes. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Chuckling.']    Ha,  ha !  you  re  Phillips.    [Seriously.']    It 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  19 

will  be  such  a  relief  to  me,  dear  old  friend,  to  unburden 
in\  self  to  you  viva  voce. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
But  what  excuse  can  /make  for  shirking  these  girls? 

Rippingill. 

Oh,  I  leave  that  to  you.     You  were  a  girl  once. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Seymour ! 

Rippingill. 

I  beg  your  pardon.  What  I  mean  is  that  two  young 
women  of — er — much  the  same  age  are  always  ready  to 
forego  the  privilege  of  the  society  of  one  who  is  a  great 
deal — that  is,  a  few  years 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
You'd  better  stop  ;  you're  getting  deeper  and  deeper. 
[Foley,  the  man-servant,  and  Bates,  a  parlor- 
maid, have  entered  from  the  garden,  the  former 
carrying  a  targe,  tight,  wooden  box,  corded  and 
labeled. 

Foley. 
[Showing  the  box  to  Rippingill.]   A  porter  has  brought 
this  from  the  station,  sir.     It's  marked  "  urgent." 

[Rippingill,  having  glanced  at  the  label,  hurriedly 
takes  the  box  from  the  man. 

Rippingill. 
Thank  you,  Foley;  thank  you.    [72?  Mrs.  Lovette.] 
Cover  me  ;  spread  yourself  out. 

[She  places  herself  between  him  and  the  group  at 
the  window  while  he  goes  down  upon  his  knees 
and  secretes  the  box  under  the  settee.  Foley 
joins  BATES,  who  has  a  tray  in  her  hand,  and 
assists  her  to  clear  the  breakfast-table. 


20  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Mrs.  LOVETTE. 
[To  RlPPINGILL.  J    What   on    earth    have    you    there? 
What  are  you  concealing? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Toys. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Toys! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Of  a  purely  diverting  character.  Ordered  'em  from 
Hamley's  yesterday — gave  the  firm  carte-blanche — this 
season's  novelties.  [Getting  to  his  feet.]  Are  you  familiar 
with  the  Dying  Pig  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I've  not  that  pleasure. 

RlPPINGILL. 
[Beaming:]    It's  irresistible. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
They  are  to  be  a  surprise  for  your  wife  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[With  a  nod  of  assent.]  I  shall  distribute  them  about 
the  room  during  her  absence.  [  Wiping  his  brow  again.] 
I  want  them  to  burst  upon  her. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Dubiously.]  You  fancy  they  may  cause  those  stony 
features  of  hers  to  relax  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ouf !  I'm  determined  to  leave  no  stone  unturned — 
nor  even  stony  features.  [Tickled  at  his  joke.]  Ha,  ha, 
ha  !     |  The  group   at  the   window   breaks   up.]     Quick  ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  21 

{Passing-  her  across  to  the  settee, .]    Sit  down,    [Pointing  to 
the  box.]    Put  \  our  feet  in  front  of  it. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
It's  so  enormous. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Thoughtlessly.]    Yes,  but  your  feet  will  hide  it. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Sitting.]    Well,  I'm  sure  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

I    beg   your   pardon.     What    I    meant    was [To 

Avis,     who    now    approaches    folloiued    by    the    Webb- 
marshes.J    My  pet  ? 

Avis. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Webbmarsh  won't  go  on  the  river  this 
morning,  Seymour.     Mr.  Webbmarsh  has  some  review- 
ing  to   do.    [To   Webbmarsh.]    I'll   run    up-stairs   and 
make  sure  that  your  table  is  in  order. 


Webbmarsh. 


Pray  don't  trouble 


[Avis  disappears,  entering  the  hall  and  turning 
sharp  round  to  her  right. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Interested.]    Reviewing  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[>S/y/y.]    Reviewing? 

Webbmarsh. 

Yes,  I  must  plough  through  the  second  volume  of  the 
"  Life  of  Disraeli  "  before  dinner,  somehow  or  other. 


22  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

And — ah — ahem  ! — Mrs.  Webbmarsh  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

\Constrainedly.\  Oh — ah — Christabel — I  dictate  notes 
to  Christabel  as  I  read.     That's  the  process. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ha,  ha,  ha  !     Oh,  that's  the  process,  is  it?     Ho,  no  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Now  what  is  the  man  laughing  at  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[To  Christabel.]    Shall  I  tell  tales,  Mrs.  Christabel? 

Christabel. 
I  don't  care  a  rap.     You're  thinking  of  yesterday 

RlPPINGILL. 

[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]  I've  placed  the  room  above  this 
at  Mr.  Webbmarsh's  disposal,  Dora — for  his  reviewing. 
Ha,  ha,  ha!  And  yesterday,  having  occasion  to  speak 
a  word  to  the  reviewer,  1 — ho,  ho!— no,  it  isn't  fair  of 
me 

Christabel. 

I'll  supply  the  sequel.  Mr.  Rippingill  found  me  sit- 
ting beside  Haynes  on  the  sofa,  my  head  resting  on  his 
shoulder. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Volume  One  upon  the  floor — discreetly,  face  downward. 
The  process  of  reviewing  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Webbmarsh  may  have  been  reviewing 
the  events  of  their  courtship. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  23 

Christabel. 
Extremely  nice  of  you,  Mrs.  Lovette. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  gather  that,  like  our  host  and  hostess,  you  are  newly- 
married  people. 

Christabel. 

[Slipping  her  arm  through  Webbmarsh's.]  We've 
scarcely  yec  realized  that  we  are  married,  have  we, 
Haynes,  dear  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

[Annoyed.']  At  any  rate,  my  day  is  to  be  devoted  to 
work,  and  my  wife  promises  me  her  sympathetic  as- 
sistance. [To  Christabel,  stiffly. \  We  will  make  a 
start,  Christabel. 

Christabel. 

Ait  voir,  till  lunch  ! 

[Webbmarsh  and  Christabel  withdraw,  in  the 
direction  taken  by  Avis.  Ripping  ill  whistles 
softly. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Too  bad  of  you,  Seymour  ! 

Rippingill. 
[Lowering  his  voice, .]     H'm!   sad.     Upon  my  soul,  my 
imagination  fails  to  conceive  a  more  deplorable  spectacle 
than  that  of  a  man  incapable  of  enjoying  a  laugh  against 
himself. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

The  difficulty  lies  in  persuading  the  live  lobster  that 
the  boiling  process  is  dignified  and  entertaining. 


24  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

But  Webbmarsh  !  who  used  to  have  the  keenest  appre- 
ciation of  fun  !  A  couple  of  months  ago  he  would  liuve 
roared  at  my  harmless  banter. 

Mrs.  LOVETTE. 
Two  months  ago  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

When  we  were  lobsters — bachelors.  Now  it's  nothing 
but  bill  and  coo,  bill  and  coo,  from  morn  till  eve. 
[Moving  over  to  the  left  as  Avis  reenters  and  returns  to 
Mrs.  LOVETTE.J  Ha,  ha,  ha!  His  critique  in  the  Bi- 
weekly should  be  a  gem  !  [  //  iping  tears  of  laicghter from 
his  eyes.]     The  process  of  reviewing  ! 

[By  this  time  the  servants  have  cleared  the  table 
ant/  sideboard  and  have  departed,  carrying  the 
rest  of  the  breakfast-things  on  trays.  Trood, 
who  has  remained  at  the  window  reading  a 
tiewspapcr,  noiv  approaches  Avis. 

Trood. 
I  hope  Mrs.  Lovette  is  coming  with  us,  Mrs.  Rippingill. 

Avis. 
[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]    Mr.  Trood  proposes  to  take  us 
up  to  Marlow,  Mrs.  Lovette. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Exceedingly  kind  of  Mr.  Trood,  but  I'd  rather  you  all 
went  your  own  ways  and  let  me  to  potter  about  here 
alone. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Hypocritically.']    My  dear  Dora  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I'm  a  tired  town-woman,  recollect — stale  as  old  shoes. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  25 

Avis. 
Oh,  it  shall  be  exactly  as  you  wish,  naturally. 

Trood. 

Dreadfully  grieved. 

[He  goes  out  at  the  door  on  the  left,  leaving  the 
door  open. 

Avis. 
[ To  Rippingill.]    Seymour,  you  will ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Can't,  my  pet  ;  most  important  letter  to  write. 

Avis. 
Why,  a  little  while  ago  it  was  the  gardener 

Rippingill. 
[Hastily. ]    Yes,  yes— I'm  writing  to  the  gardener. 

Avis. 
Writing  to  the  gardener  ! 

Rippingill. 

[Smiling  fatuously. .]  It  does  sound  singular — but  it 
isn't.  I  can't  stand  the  heat  of  the  sun.  That's  the 
simple  fact — I  cannot  stand  the  sun. 

Avis. 
But  Phillips  could  see  you  up  at  the  house,  or  here. 

Rippingill. 

[In  difficulties. .]  My  dear  Avis,  it  may  be  an  old-fash- 
ioned prejudice  on  my  part  ;  but,  ever  since  I  have  been 
in  a  position  to  employ  a  gardener,  it  has  been  a  settled 
conviction  with  me  that— er — his  appropriate  place  is  in 
the  garden. 


26  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Avis. 
[Gloomily.]    As  you  please.     I  have  to  give  some  or- 
ders to  the  cook  ;  tell  Mr.  Trood  he  must  wait  five  min- 
utes for  me. 

RlPPINGILL. 

I  will,  dearest. 

[She  takes  a  hat  from  the  stand  and  goes.  Rip- 
pingill  bustles  away  and  calls  to  'I'ROOD  from 
over  the  dwarf  wall. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Mrs.  Rippingill  has  gone  up  to  the  house  to  attend  to 
some  domestic  duties.     She'll  he  with  you  shortly. 

Trood. 

[From  below.]    All  right. 

[Rippingill  comes  back  into  the  room.  Mrs. 
Lovette,  who  has  accompanied  Avis  to  the 
hall-door,  faces  him,  laughing. 

Rippingill. 
Eh? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Seymour,  you're  a  beautiful  story-teller  ;  but,  oh,  what 
a  contemptible  hand  at  a  fib  ! 

Rippingill. 

Ha,  ha,  ha  !    [Gallantly.  |    I  ought  to  be  able  to  return 
the  compliment,  but  I  can't. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Fanning  herself  with  a  fan  which  she  carries.]    Well,  I 
never ! 

Rippingill. 
I  beg  your  pardon.    [Seating  himself  in  a  chair  on  the 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  27 

left  and  rubbing  his  head.]  The  truth  is,  Dora,  I  some- 
times find  my  wile's  baby  face  and  round  eyes  a  trifle 
discomposing. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Thoughtfully.]    Seymour 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Catching  her  mood.]    Dear  friend  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Your  first  wife  was  possessed  of  no  sense  of  humor, 
either,  was  she  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[After  a  pause.]    Not  in  the  faintest  degree. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
What  an  odd  fatality  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Staring  before  him.  j    It  is — rummy. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
That  it  should  befall  you,  of  all  persons! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Precisely  !  I  who  managed  to  preserve,  throughout 
twenty  years  of  servitude  in  a  government  office,  what  I 
claim  may  be  fairly  described  as  an  almost  abnormal 
perception  of  the  ludicrous  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Laying  her  fan  upon  his  shoulder.]    However,  taking 
one  thing  with  another,  you  haven't  much  to  complain  of. 

RlPPINGILL. 
[Jumping  tip.]   Complain  of!      [Soberly.]    Ahem!     On 
the  contrary,  apart  from  my — ahem! — my — er 


28  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    S3IJLE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
It  was  unfeeling  of  me  to  remind  you  of  it. 

RlPPINGILL. 
[With  a  wave  of  tin-  liand.\  My  unfortunate  maiden 
matrimonial  venture,  I  regard  myself  as  the  luckiest  devil 
in  existence.  Why,  only  think  !  Just  as  I  was  becom- 
ing sick  to  death  of  the  office  ;  just  as  my  remarkable 
sense  of  humor  was  perhaps  beginning  to  show  signs  of 
wear  and  tear 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Looking  out  of  the  window.]    You  drop  in  for  all  this  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Delightful,  hey  ?  [Walking  away  to  the  right.]  This 
boat-house  was  my  Uncle  Horace's  last  addition  to  the 
property.  [Sitting  on  the  settee.]  Poor  old  Horace! 
f  Taking  his  pipe  from  his  pocket.]  Bless  me,  how  fond  the 
old  chap  would  have  been  of  Avis!  He  was  totally  des- 
titute of  humor  also. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Turning  from  the  window  abruptly.]  Seymour,  what 
passes  my  comprehension  is  that  the  child's  lamentable 
deficiency  didn't  dawn  on  you  sooner.  Not  that  it  would 
have  made  any  difference 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Discovering  that  his  pipe  still  contains  some  tobacco, 
and  relighting  it.\  My  dear  Dora,  our  engagement  fol- 
lowed a  particularly  superficial  knowledge  of  each  other's 
idiosyncrasies. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
But  during  your  engagement ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Experience    teaches    me    that    that    period    is   often 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   S3IILE  29 

marked  by  a  suspension  of  the  faculty  of  observation. 
Added  to  which,  it  was  as  brief  as  our  previous  acquaint- 
ance. My  wife's  aunt — Avis's  sole  living  relative,  an 
aged  lady  with  rheumatic  tendencies — earnestly  desired 
to  see  her  niece  happily  settled  in  life  before  she 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Sympathetically.]    I  understand. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Before  she  went  to  Bath. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Oh! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[With  a  puzzled  air.]  The  whole  business  was — I 
don't  use  the  word  in  its  vulgar  significance — stunning. 
It  seems  to  me,  looking  back  on  the  affair,  that  the 
moment  I  had  proposed,  my  tailor  was  measuring  me  for 
my  wedding  garments  ;  and  that  immediately  after  tliat 
I  was  wearing  'em,  in  the  presence  of  the  Registrar. 
[Seeing  Trood  saunter  past  the  door  on  the  left.]  Ah! 
young  Trood  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
What  about  him  ? 


I  wonder  if  he  could  enlighten  us. 


RlPPINGILL. 

I  enlighten  us 

Mrs.  Lovette. 


Enlighten  us ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

As  to  whether  Avis  has  ever  manifested  the  cheerful- 
ness characteristic  of  youth. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Why  should  he ? 


30  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

He  knew  her  before  I  did.  [Rising.]  He  and  some  of 
his  brother  art-students  were  lodgers  in  the  boarding- 
house  where  I  hist  met  her. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
If  it  were  done  delicately 

RlPPINGILL. 

It  might  be  instructive.  [Trood  appears  outside  the 
window ;  Rippingill^w  to  the  -window  and  hails  him.] 
My  dear  fellow,  I  caution  you — that  creeper  swarms  with 
insects.  [To  Mrs.  Lovette,  indicating  that  Trood  is 
about  to  join  them.]  You  open  the  ball;  I'll  cut  in. 
[Trood  enters.] 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Mr.  Trood,  do  come  to  my  assistance.      Mr.  Rippingill 
and  I  are  indulging  in  quite  a  hot  argument. 

■ 
Trood. 

Indeed  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

He  dares  to  maintain  that  the  sense  of  humor  is  more 
acute  in  men  than  in  women. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Behind  the  (aide  on  the  left.]  I  was  instancing  my 
charming  wife — perfect— absolutely  perfect,  if  I  may  say 
so,  in  all  other  respects 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Distinctly  unfair  !     I  should  like  to  have  the  evidence 
of  somebody  who  knew  her  before  she  was  threatened 
with  the  responsibilities  of  marriage. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  31 

RlPPINGILL. 

Should  you  ?  Ha,  ha !  I  refer  you  to  our  young 
friend  there. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Sitting  at  (he   (able   on   the   left,  RlPPINGILL  at  her 
elbow.]    Ah!     Now,  Mr.  Trood  ! 

Trood. 
[Advancing.]    I !  my  dear  lady,  don't  ask  me  to  settle 
the  point. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  do,  deliberately.     You  and  Mrs.  Rippingill  were  ac- 
quainted before  she  met  her  husband. 

Trood. 

I  don't  deny  that.  But  in  the  days  when  Mrs.  Rip- 
pingill and  I — Miss  Meiklejohn  she  was  then 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Yes? 

Trood. 

In  the  days  when  Miss  Meiklejohn  and  I  were  residing 
at  Mrs.  Culross's  in  Westbourne  Terrace,  I  and  my  com- 
panions were  struggling  to  find  a  fitting  formula  for  the 
expression  of  our  artistic  ideals. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  see — which  was  no  laughing  matter. 

Trood. 

We  were  hesitating — I  trust  I  am  not  too  technical — 
we  were  hesitating  between  Realism  on  the  one  hand  and 
Impressionism  on  the  other.  [Seating  himself  in  the  arm- 
chair.] Men  in  that  condition  of  mind  need  sympathy, 
not  fun  and  frolic. 


32  -I     WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

.Mrs.  Lovette. 
And  that  you  got  from  Miss  Meiklejohn? 

Trood. 

[Assentingiy.]  We  made  that  young  lady  the  recipient 
(l  urn  confidences.  Our  custom  was,  I  remember,  to  as- 
semble upon  the  landing  before  dressing  for  dinner. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The  landing  ? 

Trood. 

The  second-floor  landing.  [Shutting  his  eyes.]  I  have 
only  to  close  my  eyes  to  recapture  the  effect  of  the  even- 
ing light  streaming  through  the  colored  window.  It  was 
the  curious  play  of  that  light  upon  the  seated  figure  of 
Miss  Meiklejohn  which  led  to  our  giving  her  the  name 
that  afterwards  clung  to  her  at  Mother  Culross's. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The  name ? 

Trood. 
Avis  of  the  Shimmering  Hair. 


Mrs.  Lovette. 


Shimmering 


& 


RlPPINGILL. 

[ Coming  forward,    his    handkerchief  to    his  mouth. \ 
Shimmering ? 

Trood. 
Hair.     Its  tone  has  become  somewhat  duller,  if  I  may 
be    permitted    the    remark,  than    it  was    in  Westbourne 
Terrace.    [Drearily. \    But  may  not  the  same  comment  be 
applied  generally  to  life  ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  33 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Unable  to  res/rain  his  laughter.  |    Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Trood. 
[G?/<//j'.J    I  beg  your  pardon? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Avis  of  the  Shimmering  Hair!  The  setting  sun 
touched  with  his  magic  brush  the  luxuriant  ceil  at  the 
back  of  the  shapely  head,  1  suspect,  hey? 

Trood. 
Certainly.     It  was  the    consciousness  of  the  supreme 
difficulty  of  seizing  it — grasping  it 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

The — er ? 

Trood. 

The  shimmer — the  difficulty  of  transferring  it  to  the 
canvas,  that  nearly  drove  us  artists  to  despair. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

And  you  and  your  friends — which  school  did  you  favor 
in  the  end  ?     Impressionism  or  Realism? 

Trood. 

Impressionism.  But  I  think  that  some  of  us  are  grad- 
ually drifting  towards  Realism. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Ah!   you  are  learning  to  draw  a  little,  I  suppose. 

Trood. 
Yes — no — that  is 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Hearing  footsteps  in  the  garden.  |  Behold  !  the  lady  of 
the  Shimmering ! 


34  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Trood. 

[Rising  hastily— to  Mrs.  Lovette.J    Excuse  me. 

[Avis   is  seen   to  pass,  first  the  window,  then  the 
open  door  on  the  left. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[To  Trood.]  Lunch  at  half-past  one,  as  usual.  You'll 
join  us? 

Trood. 
Thanks  ;  probably. 

[He  goes  out  at  the  door  on  the  left  and  disappears. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Following  hi»i.\  You'll  have  a  perfectly  delightful 
morning.  [Calling  to  Avis.|  Oughtn't  you  to  take  a 
wrap,  my  pet?  No?  There,  1  won't  worry  you.  [Re- 
turning  and  closing  the  door.]  Ha,  ha  !  Most  attractive 
young  fellow — Trood,  but  really  I  begin  to  doubt  if  his 
sense  of  humor  is  worth  a  two-penny  ticket.  Isn't  it  as- 
tounding !  [Hurrying  across  to  the  right  and  withdrawing 
the  box  from  under  the  settee.]  Now  !  [Depositing  the  box 
upon  the  smaller  table  and  cutting  the  cord  with  his 
pocket-knife.]  Ho,  ho  !  Avis  of  the  Shimmering  Hair! 
The  first  I've  heard  of  that.  [Attempting  to  force  the  lid 
of  the  box  with  his  fingers.]  Poor  girl !  Her  association 
with  those  self-absorbed  youths  in  Westbourne  Terrace 
was  enough  to  crush  the  spirit  of  a  six-weeks-old  kitten. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Standing,  watching  him — pointing  to  a  pair  of  cham- 
pagne-nippers which  she  espies  upon  the  sideboard.]  Those 
champagne-nippers ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Excellent.  [Applying  the  tiippers  to  the  box.]  Dear 
friend,  I  own  I  am  extremely  sanguine  as  to  the  effect  of 
these  droll  playthings.     Heavens,  I   hope  they  include 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  35 

the  Wriggling  Snake  !  The — Wriggling — Snake — is  irre- 
sistible. [The  lid  opens  with  a  jerk.]  Hah!  a  splendid 
assortment  apparently.  Hamley,  I  thank  thee  !  Ha, 
ha,  ha  !  do  look  at  these  !  \  Handing  some  grotesque  dolls 
to  Mrs.  Lovette,  after  having  divested  them  of  their 
paper  wrappers.  J    You'll  assist  me  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Where  shall  I  put  them  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

On  the  top  of  the  piano.  \He  comes  upon  an  elongated 
air-ball,  inflates  it,  and  follows  it  as  it  flutters  away  from 
him.]    The  Flying  Sausage  ! 

[  Tliey  visit  the  box  in  turn  and,  laughing  at  each 
object  as  it  is  disclosed,  move  rapidly  about  the 
room,  placing  /he  toys  upon  the  various  articles 
of  furniture. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
f  Taking  a  dollfrpm  the  box.]    The  Gollyvvog.     Ha,  ha  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Taking  out  another  doll.]    Sunny  Jim.     Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Examining  the  presentment  of  an  eminent  politician.] 
Who's  this  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Diving  into  the  box.]  Yes  !  No.  Yes  !  The  Dying 
Pig!  Eureka!  [Discovering  a  small  cardboard  box  and 
giving  it  to  Mrs.  Lovette.]  What  have  we  here? 
[Rummaging  again.]  I  can  find  no  snake.  Gross  neg- 
lect— culpable  neglect. 

I  Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Opening  the  cardboard  box  and  producing  a  small, 


36  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

heart-shaped  board  which  has  two  wheels  attached  to  its 
nil  st  part  ami  a  piet  e  of  lead-pt  ncil  at  its  pointed  ant.\ 
Planchettt . 

RlPPINGILL. 

Planchette?     There's  nothing  laughable  in  that. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
incing  a  certain  familiarity  with  the  apparatus.  J 
Laughable,  no  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Why  do  they  send   such  trash  and  omit  the  Wriggling 

Serpent  ?     Dora 

[She  lays  the  Planchette  upon  the  oval  table  and 
they  continue  arranging  the  toys  until  the  room 
has  the  appearance  of  a  toy-shop.  In  the  end, 
Mrs.  Lovette  sinks  upon  the  window-seat 
breathlessly,  -while  RlPPINGILL  stands  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  surveying  the  resit  It  of  their 
labors. 

Mrs.  Lovette  and  Rippingill. 
Ah-h-h  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Superb  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Pacing  the  apartment^]  Dear  friend,  I  repeat,  I  rest 
great  hopes  upon  this  display.  [With  conviction.]  This 
is  irresistible. 

[Webbmarsh   and  Christabel   appear  in   the 

hall. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Hallo  ! 

Webbmarsh. 
[  Taking  a  hat  from  the  stand.]    Hallo  ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  :$7 

RlPPINGILL. 

Knocked  oft"  work,  you  two  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

We  are  going  for  a  short  stroll.  [Coming  into  the 
room.]  The  atmosphere  has  become  rather  oppressive 
up-stairs.    [Staring  at  the  toys.\    My  dear  Seymour  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Winking  at  Mrs.  Lovette.J  Ah,  you  are  looking  at 
my  dolls. 

Christabel. 
[Who  also  has  taken  a  hat  from  the  stand,  joining  her 
husband.  J    Oh  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Blandly].  Nice  lot,  aren't  they  ?  This  is  my  day  for 
them. 

Webbmarsh. 
Your  day ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Yes,  I  have  them  out  and  play  with  them  once  a  month 
regularly. 

Christabel. 
Mr.  Rippingill  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

A  boyish  practice — can't  shake  it  oft".  You'd  scarcely 
credit  how  I  yearned  for  them  while  I  was  on  my  honey- 
moon. 

Christabel. 
[Aghast.]    Haynes  ! 


3.9  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

WebBmarsh. 
[Nettled.]     Hush!     don't    be    apprehensive    for    our 
friend's  sanity,  Christabel.      I  imagine  this  to  be  another 
of  his  irrepressible  jocosities.    [Ironically.]    Ha,  ha!    Are 
you  ready  ? 

Christabel. 

Ha,  ha,  ha  !     Quite. 

[With  their  heads  in  the  air,  they  turn  axvay  and 
disappear  into  the  garden.  The  sky  becomes 
overcast  and  the  light  in  the  room  diminishes. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Rising.]    You've  put  your  foot  in  it  again,  Seymour. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[In    renewed    astonishment.}     Whew  !     Webbmarsh  ! 
[Suddenly.]    By  Jove  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Eh? 

RlPPINGILL. 

The  coast  is  clear  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Clear — for  what  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Wait  a  minute  ! 

f  He  rims  out  at  the  hall-door  and  returns  imme- 
diately carrying  the  gardener  s  ladder.  This 
he  proceeds  to  plant  against  one  of  the  beams  of 
the  ceilinp-. 


£  ' 

Mrs.  Lovette. 


Seymour  i 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  39 

RlPPINGILL. 

I  couldn't  have  desired  a  more  favorable  opportunity. 
[He  mounts   the  ladder   nimbly  and  Jumbles  for 
something  behind  the  beam. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Standing  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder.]    Explain,  or  I  up- 
set the  ladder  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Gleefully.]    Spare  me  !  spare  me  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Shaking  the  ladder.]    I  won't  ! 

[He  descends  a  rung  or  two,  holding  the  end  of  a 
thin  cord  which  passes  through  the  ceiling. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Showing  her  the  cord.]    A  piece  of  cord. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
So  I  perceive. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Dear  friend,  the   other  end  of  this   is  attached  to  the 
bottom  of  the  sofa. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Sofa ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

The  sofa  upon  which  the  reviewer  and  his  amanuensis 
sit  and  caress.     It  stands  here — above  my  head 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Well  ? 


40  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 
[Pointing  to  a  doll.']  A  doll.  [She  hands  him  the  doll, 
and  he  suspends  it  by  the  cord.]  Dora,  the  episode  of 
yesterday  was  no  exceptional  proceeding.  I've  observed 
'(.-m  from  the  garden  ;  Webbmarsh's  eyes  are  seldom,  if 
ever,  upon  his  book.  He  squanders  the  flying  hours — 
hours  which  he  owes  to  the  cause  of  literature — in  spoon- 
ing. I  apologize  for  the  expression— spooning.  [Sliding 
down  the  ladder.]  Ha,  ha  !  |  Contemplating  the  suspended 
doll.]  You  follow  my  theory  ?  I  evolved  it  in  the  middle 
of  the  night. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The  doll  should  respond ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Nodding.]  Even  a  kiss,  the  gentlest  pressure  of  the 
hand,  should  produce  a  shiver.  [Shouldering  the  ladder.] 
This  must  amuse  Avis,  hey  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Whoever   is    amused,  it   assuredly  won't  be  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Webbmarsh. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Of  course  not ;  they  remain  in  complete  ignorance. 
[Moving  across  to  the  right.]  There's  the  cream  of  the 
joke.  [Pausing  in  the  archway.]  Would  you  believe  it, 
old  friend— 1  was  drilling  that  hole  in  the  ceiling  at  a 
quarter  past  six  this  morning!  [Replacing  the  ladder.] 
Ho,  ho,  ho!  Irresistible!  [Reentering.]  Dora,  may  I 
ask  for  your  assistance  in  testing  the  contrivance  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[  Walking  away  to  the  left.]    What  next ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

I  beg  your  pardon  ;  you  misunderstand  me.    [In  the 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  41 

archway.]     You    stay  here    and  watch  the  doll  while  I, 
myself,  go  through  the  process  of  reviewing. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[At  the  bay-window.]    Seymour,  this  is  dangerous  ;  I'll 
have  no  hand  in  this. 

RlPPlNGILL. 

f Injured.]    Dora,    oblige    me [The    pattering  of 

rain  is  heard.]    Raining  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[  Warningly.]    The  Webbmarshes  ! 

RlPPlNGILL. 

{Leaving  the  archway.]  Dash!  [Calling  to  Webb- 
marsh  and  Christabel,  who  are  seen  shaking  their  hats 
in  the  halt.]    Back? 

Webbmarsh. 
[Entering  the  room.]    In  the  nick  of  time. 

Christabel. 
[Looking  into  the  room  and  then  disappearing.]    Isn't 
it  lucky  we  hadn't  left  the  grounds  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

[Glancing  at  the  suspended  doll  as  he  turns  down  his 
coat-cottar  and  brushes  the  rain-drops  from  his  sleeves.] 
What's  that? 

RlPPlNGILL. 

[Innocently.]  That?  Oh,  that's  a  simple  device  for 
attracting  the  flies. 

Webbmarsh. 
Thought  it  might  be  more  of  your  tomfoolery. 


42  A     WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

My  dear  Haynes  ! 

Webbmarsh. 
[Moving  towards  the  right.]  Well,  I'll  get  to  work 
again.  [Kippingill  giggles  incautiously.  Webbmarsh 
turns  sharply  and  regards  him  with  suspicion.  There  is  a 
violent  burst  of  rain,  then  the  downpour  gradually  ceases 
and  the  sky  clears.]    Good  for  the  grass. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Controlling  himself  with  difficulty.]     Yes,  I  was  lying 
awake  during  the  night  fretting  about  the  grass. 

Webbmarsh. 

[Doubtfully.]    Oh ! 

[He  withdraws.  Rippingill  throws  himself  upon 
the  settee  on  the  right,  convulsed  with  laughter. 
The  door  on  the  left  opens  and  Avis  hurries  in. 
She  is  wearing  Trood' 's  jacket  over  her  shoul- 
ders. 

Avis. 

[Breathlessly,  closing  the  door.]    Oh,  dear  me  !  what  a 
storm  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Are  you  wet  ? 

Avis. 
Mr.  Trood  is  ;  this  is  his  blazer. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Rising.]    Where  is  he  ? 

Avis. 

Putting  the  boat  away.     I've   persuaded  him  to  ask 
Foley  for  a  change  of  things. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   S3IILE  43 

RlPPINGILL. 

Very  prudent. 

[As  Rippingill  takes  the  jacket  from  her,  she  dis- 
covers the  toys. 

Avis. 
Why,  what  are  these? 

Rippingill. 
Those  ?     Look  at  them,  my  pet ;  examine  them. 

Mrs.  Lovette  and  Rippingill. 
[Laughing  encouragingly .]    Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

[She  wanders  round  the  room  in  a  listless  fashion. 
Rippingill  and  Mrs.  Lovette,  stretching 
their  heads  forward,  watch  her  intently. 

Avis. 
[Apathetically.]    Where  do  they  come  from  ? 

Rippingill. 

[Laying  the  jacket  upon  the  back  of  the  armchair.] 
From  town.     Ho,  ho  !     I  wired  for  'em  yesterday. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[On  the  left.]    Aren't  they  excruciatingly  funny,  Mrs. 
Rippingill? 

Rippingill. 

[At  the  table  on  the  right,   inflating  the  Dying  Pig.] 
Avis — phu — Avis — phu  !      The  Dying  Pig  !     Phu ! 

Avis. 
What  do  you  propose  to  do  with  them  all,  Seymour? 

Rippingill. 
[Blankly.]     To  do  with  them? 


II  A     WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Avis. 
The  coachman's  child  had  better  have  a  few,  I  suppose  ? 
Then  there's  the  cook's  little  lame  nephew 

RlPPINGILL. 

My  pet,  nobody  can  feel  more  kindly  disposed  towards 
Mrs.  Thompson's  nuisance  of  a  nephew  than  I  ;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  I  admit  I  am  slightly  disappointed 

Avis. 
Disappointed  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

I  had  an  idea  that — ahem  ! — that  perhaps  you 

Avis. 
I  ?     Oh,  dolls — toys  of  any  sort — never  had  much  at- 
traction for  me. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Crestfallen.']   Oh— ah ! 

Avis. 

The  shower  is  over.  [Picking  up  the  jacket  and  moving 
towards  the  hall.]  I'll  carry  Mr.  Trood's  jacket  up  to  the 
house  and  order  it  to  be  dried. 

[She  goes  into  the  garden  and  disappears.  Mrs. 
Lovette  and  Rippingill  sit,  the  former  at  the 
oval  table,  he  in  the  armchair. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Sighing  heavily.]  Ah — h— h  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[In  sympathy.]    Ah — h — h  !     I  am  afraid  my  diagnosis 
is  correct,  Seymour. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[His  head  bowed.]    Diagnosis  ? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  45 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Incurable. 

RlPPINGILL. 

\Groaning.~\   Oh  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Incurable. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Don't !  don't! 

[They  lapse  into  silence,  he  staring  at  the  floor,  she 
playing  with  the  Planchette.  The  suspended 
doll  becomes  animated,  breaking  into  a  dance. 
They  look  at  each  other  wondering!)1 \ 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Listening.]    Hark ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[After  consideration.]    Bees. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Discovering  the  cause  of  the  sound.~]    Ah  !     The  doll  is 
dancing  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Oh  !     [Proudly,    under  his  breath.~\     What   a  success, 
Dora!     What  a  triumph  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Lost  in  admiration.']    It  is  indeed  ingenious,  Seymour. 
[They  twist  their  chairs  round,  to  obtain  a  better 
view  of  the  doll,  and  sit  gazing  up  at  it,  ab- 
sorbed. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Bitterly.]    The  impostor!     The  arch  impostor  !     And 


46  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

these    are   the   men   whose    utterances   influence    public 
opinion ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[ Quietly, .]    Of  course,  it  may  be  that  he,  or  she,  is 
seated  there  alone. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Pshaw ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Or  that  he  is  merely  scratching  his  ear. 

[  The  dance  increases  in  energy. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Look! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Tenderly^]  You  are  right ;  that  can  be  nothing  but 
intense,  ardent  affection. 

\_He  starts  up,  and  makes  for  the  garden,  as  if  to 
fetch  Avis. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Avis  !  Avis !  [  Checking  himself  and  slowly  return- 
ing.'] No  ;  I  realize  it — even  this  wouldn't  do  it.  [Eye 
ing  the  doll  ruefully.]  She  didn't  notice  it  was  hanging 
there  !  [Mrs.  Lovette  fingers  the  Planchette  again.  The 
doll's  dance  ceases.]  An  interval !  The  reviewer  now 
salves  his  conscience  with  another  paragraph  or  two. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Impulsively.]    Seymour! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Dear  friend  ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  47 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[  Turning  her  chair  to  the  table  at  which  she  is  seated.] 
Give  me  a  sheet  of  paper. 

Rippingill. 
[Crossing  to  the  writing-table  on  the  left.]   A  sheet  of 
paper  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  am  going  to  consult  the  Planchette. 

Rippingill. 
The  Planchette  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The  Planchette.  If  your  wife's  distressing  malady  is 
open  to  treatment,  it's  plain  yours  is  at  fault.  [Taking  a 
sheet  of  paper  from  him  and  adjusting  the  Planchette.]  I 
am  going  to  ask  the  Planchette  to  suggest  a  means  of 
bringing  a  smile  to  Mrs.  Rippingill' s  face. 

Rippingill. 

My  dear   Dora,  surely  you  are  too  sensible  to  believe 
in  that  mischievous  rubbish  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Every  woman  is  at  heart  a  witch.     Lay  your  hand  on 
mine. 

Rippingill. 

[Obeying  her.  [    Oh,  if  you- 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Hush  !     [Closing  her  eyes.]    Shut   your  eyes  and  let 
yourself    go — abandon    yourself.      [After  a   while.]      It 
moves! 

Rippingill. 
You're  wobbling  it. 


48  A     WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Involuntarily. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Pickles ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Rising,  hurt.']    Seymour ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

I  beg  your  pardon  ;  I  withdraw  the  word,  unreservedly. 

[She  resumes  her  seat  and  they  lay  their  hands  on 

the  Plane hette  again,  and  again  shut  their  eyes. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[In  a  whisper.]    We  are  writing. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Opening  his  eyes.]    No  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
{Opening  her  eyes.]    Ah,  now  you've  spoiled  it ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

We  have  scribbled  something. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Their  heads  betiding  over  the  paper.]    D — no,  P 

RlPPINGILL. 

N — or  is  it  U  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
It's  a  U.     P— U— what's  that ? 

RlPPINGILL. 
L? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  49 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
L. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Two  L's. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
P—U— double  L. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Pull. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
What  suggestion  is  wrapped  up  in  Pull  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

None. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Wait,  wait  ;  you're  so  hasty.     Pull ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

\Walking    away    to    the    right.']      Pull — pull — pull — 
pull ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Your   wife    has    just    returned    from    a   pull   on   the 
river ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

That  leads  nowhere. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Pull— pull— pull— pull ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

\Hisface  suddenly  lighting  up.~\    Dora ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Found  it  ? 


50  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

Pullinger ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
What  is  a  pullinger  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Pullinger  is  a  person.  My  old  friend  Pullinger.  Pull — 
the  first  syllable  of  his  name  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Rising.'}    Ah  !     And    if  you    hadn't    interrupted    the 

Planchette 

RlPPINGILL. 

It  is  extraordinary.  And  still  more  extraordinary  that 
I  haven't  thought  of  Jack  before  !  [Going  to  the  telephone 
and  ringing  violently.}  If  he's  in  town  to-day,  I'll  have 
him  down."  [Speaking  to  the  telephone.}  Is  that  Foley? 
.  .  .  Foley,  put  me  on  to  Mr.  Pullinger — Mr.  John 
Pullinger,  not  his  brother  Frank — Mr.  John  Pullinger  of 
Kensington  Court     .     .'     .     at  once    .     .     .    thank  you. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Crossing  to  the  right.}    Who  is  this  gentleman  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Leaving  the  telephone.}  He  and  his  brother  are  the 
great  biscuit  people.     You  eat  them  with  ices. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Yes,  but 

RlPPINGILL. 

They're  now  a  company — F.  and  J.  Pullinger,  Limited  ; 
John's  the  Chairman. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Yes,  but  why  should  a  biscuit-baker ? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  51 

RlPPINGILL. 

My  dear  Dora,  John   Pullinger  knows  no  more  about 
biscuits  than  he  does  about  anything  else. 


Mrs.  Lovette. 


What 


RlPPINGILL. 

No,  no,  no  !  I  mean,  there  is  nothing,  positively 
nothing,  that  Pullinger  doesn't  know  something  about. 
Without  exaggeration,  he  is  the  most  intelligent  man  in 
London.  Great  heaven,  the  information  that  chap  can 
give  you  upon  the  most  varied  subjects  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
And  has  he — has  he  a  strong  sense  of  humor  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Doubtfully.]  H'm!  N-n-no,  I  should  hardly  say  he 
matches  you,  or  me,  in  that  department.  But  in  a  man 
of  such  universal  powers  you  can't  reasonably  expect  a 
single  quality  to  predominate. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

He  doesn't  exactly  sound  like  the  miracle-worker  we 
are  seeking. 

RlPPINGILL. 
[A    Utile   testily.']    Oh,   he's    not    a    buffoon,  my  dear 
Dora,  if  that's  the  article  you're  in'  search  of. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Walking  away  to  the  left.]    Really,  Seymour  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 
[Rubbing  his  head.]    I  beg  your  pardon [The  tele- 
phone  bell  rings;    he   runs   to   the    instrument)]    Hallo, 
hallo  !...'!    want    Mr.    John     Pullinger.     .     .     . 


.1     WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 


I'm    Mr.    Rippingill.     .     .     .     Oh,   is   that   you,   Jack? 

.      How   .uc  you,  my  clear  fellow  ?     .      .      .     That's 

right.      And   how    i>   that   sweet,    cheery   old   lady,   your 

mother?     .     .     .     Eh— what ?     .     .     .     Bless  me, 

I  forgot!  .  .  •  Of  course;  how  stupid  of  me! 
.  .  Ah,  well,  she  lived  to  a  good,  ripe  age,  didn't 
she?  [MRS.  LOVETTE  laughs.-]  One  moment,  Dora. 
[Resuming.']  1  bay,  Jack!  I  need  your  advice  upon  a 
matter  of  considerable  importance  to  me— vital  impor- 
tance. You're  a  marvel  at  helping  a  man  in  a  difficulty. 
Yes,  you  are,  you  wise  old  owl !  .  .  .  Are 
you  engaged  to-day  for  luncheon  ?  .  .  .  No?  .  .  . 
Then  come  down  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  my 
wife.  .  .  .  Eh  ?  .  .  .  Yes,  I'm  referring  to  my 
new  wife.  [Mrs.  Lovette  a^ain  laughs.]  Half  a  mo- 
ment, Dora.  [Res7iming.]  Eh  ?  ...  Oh,  that's 
jolly  !  .  .  .  Half-past  one  ;  the  trains  are  most  con- 
venient. .  .  .  Oh,  motor,  if  you  prefer  it.  .  .  . 
You've  five  motors?  .  .  .  Well,  come  in  the  five. 
.  .  .  Ha,  ha,  ha!  .  .  .  God  bless  you!  \_Lca7>- 
ing  the  telephone  gaily.]  My  dear  Dora,  this  has  lifted 
quite  a  load  from  me.  Jack !  [Mrs.  Lovette  has  re- 
turned to  the  table  on  the  left.  He  grasps  her  hand.]  Was 
I  discourteous? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Sitting  at  the  table.]    Fiddle-de-dee  ! 

Rippingill. 

Ah,  Dora,  my  head — this  serious  anxiety  !  But  now — 
1  have  a  presentiment — Pullinger!  [The  doll  dances 
again.]    Ah,  ha  !     The  reviewer!     Whoop! 

Mrs.  Lovette  and  Rippingill. 

Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

\_He  skips  away  to  the  piano  and  strikes  up  a 
lively  tune.  Mrs.  Lovette,  with  closed  eves, 
resumes  experimentalizing  with  the  Planchette 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  53 

RlPPlNGILL. 

[As  he  plays.']    John  Pullinger  ! 

[Trood — in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  carrying  the 
cushions  of  his  boat — passes  the  window,  on  his 
way  to  the  house. 


END   OF   THE   FIRST   ACT 


THE  SECOND  ACT 

The  scene  is  tlic  same  as  in  the  preceding  act.      '1  lure  is  a 
slight  alteration  in  the  arrangement  of  the  furniture . 

The  settee  on  the  left  now  has  7ts  back  to  the  oval  table 
and  faces  the  settee  which  is  on  the  right.  A  single 
chair  only  remains  at  this  table.  Of  the  two  other 
chairs,  one  stands  before  the  writing-table  ;  one  in  tin- 
centre  of  the  room,  by  the  piano. 

All  the  toys  have  been  removed  with  the  exception 
of  the  Planchette  and  the  suspended  doll.  The  ladder 
also  has  disappeared. 

The  door  on  the  left  is  closed,  the  halt-door  open. 
[Mrs.  Lovette  is  lying,  propped  up  by  pillows, 
upon  the  settee  on  the  left,  deep  in  a  novel. 
Christabel  and  WEBBMARSH  are  seen  in  the 
garden.  Crossing  from  the  left,  they  pass  the 
window  and  enter  the  hall,  where  they  hang 
their  hats  upon  the  stand. 

Christabel. 
[Looking  into  the  room.']    Glorious  afternoon,  isn't  it  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Perfect. 

Christabel. 
Seems    almost    a   sacrilege    to    immure    oneself.     But 
when  there  is  work  to  be  done 


Mrs.  Lovette. 

Yes,  duty  is  duty. 

[Webbmarsh    and  Christabel    disappear  and 
Mrs.  LOVETTE  resumes  her  trading.     After  a 

54 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  55 

while,     Rippingill    enters    the    hall,   coming 
from  the  right. 

Rippingill. 
[Searching for  Mrs.  Lovette.]   There  you  are  !    [Ap- 
proaching  her.~\    Where's  Avib  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
On  the  river,  with  young  Trood. 

Rippingill. 
Good  !    And  the  Webbmarshes  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Glancing  upward.'}    Reviewing. 

Rippingill. 
Ha,  ha  !     [Rubbing  his    hands.']    This    is    our  oppor- 
tunity.    I've  got  him  here. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Mr.  Pullinger  ? 

Rippingill. 
He  is  waiting  under  the  eucalyptus.     Are  you  ready  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Putting  her  feet  to  the  ground,  with  no  great  eagerness.] 
Quite. 

Rippingill. 
[Hesitatingly.']    Er — you  are  impressed  by  him,  Dora  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Forgive  me  for  asking — he's  not  inclined  to  be  a  leetle 
— a  leetle f 

Rippingill. 

A  little ? 


f>6  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Oh,  I  admit  he  has  an  enormous  store  of  general 
knowledge.     There's  no  disputing  that. 

RlPPINGILL. 

And  yet  is  a  man  of  the  utmost  simplicity — massive, 
comprehensive  simplicity.  [Mrs.  Lovette  yawns.l  It 
always  strikes  me  that  a  couple  of  hours  of  Pullinger  do 
more  for  us  than  our  ablest  historians  in  demonstrating 
the  cpialities  that  have  made  England  what  she  is. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Possibly.  [Passing  her  hand  across  her  brow. .]  I  dare 
say  it's  the  hot  weather 

RlPPINGILL. 

I'll  call  him.  \_He  goes  to  the  hall-door  and  whistles. 
Presently  he  is  joined  by  Pullinger.]  Mrs.  Lovette  is 
alone,  Jack — prepared  for  our  consultation. 

[Pullinger  enters  tht  roojn.  He  is  a  serious- 
looking,  solidly-built  man  of  fifty,  with  a  mous- 
tache which  lie  strokes  ruminatively  at  intervals 
and  a  fine,  square,  lofty  brow.  He  walks 
rather  stiffly,  as  from  gout,  with  the  aid  of  a 
cane.  RlPPINGILL  carefully  closes  the  hall- 
door. 

Pullinger. 
{Addressing  Mrs.  Lovette.]    Let  me  see,  what  was  I 
telling  you  when  we  rose  from  the  luncheon-table  ?     Ah, 
yes — where  to  buy  your  tea. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I've  dealt  at  Ropers'  for  years. 

Pullinger. 
Go   to    Cramp   &    Peeble— a    tiny  shop   in    Foubert's 
Place,  an  insignificant  turning  on  the  left-hand  side  of 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  57 

Regent  Street  as  you  face  south.  Put  it  down  before  you 
forget  it.  [To  Rippingill.]  Rip,  a  pencil  and  some  paper 
for  Mrs.  Lovette. 

Rippingill. 

[Delightedly]    Yes,  Jack. 

"[He  fetches  several  sheets  of  paper  and  a  pencil 
from  the  writing-table,  and  gives  them  to  Mrs. 
Lovette. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  already  have  a  pile  of  memoranda  about  one  thing 
and  another. 

PULLINGER. 

I  found  it  under  your  chair  after  you'd  left  the  dining- 
room. 

[He  restores  to  her  a  number  of  scraps  of  paper 
which  he  produces  from  his  coat-pocket. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
They  must  have  slipped  off  my  lap. 

PULLINGER. 

Cramp  &  Peeble 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Scribbling    impatiently]     Left-hand    side    of    Regent 
Street 

PULLINGER. 

Ah,  but  Foubert's  Place 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Yes,  yes,  a  magnificent  turning 

PULLINGER. 

An  insignificant  turning 


58  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Ha,    ha!     [Moistening   the  point  of  her  f>encil.\     C)| 
course. 

PULLINGER. 

I  notice  you  moisten  your  pencil,  Mrs.  Lovette. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
It's  a  habit — [defiantly  repeating  the  action']  a  habit. 

PULLINGER. 

[Pleasantly.]  A  bad  one,  often  contracted  through  the 
inferiority  of  the  lead. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[On  Mrs.  Lovette's  right,  nudging  her  shoulder.]  I'll 
be  bound,  Jack,  that  you  could  put  us  in  the  way  ot  get- 
ting hold  of  a  decent  lead-pencil. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Under  her  breath.]    No,  no  ! 

PULLINGER. 

I  can — the  best  that's  manufactured. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Admiringly.]    I  said  so  ! 

PULLINGER. 

Bousfield — an  obscure  artists' -colorman  in  the  Fulham 
Road. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]  Isn't  he  wonderful !  Upon  my 
word,  Jack ! 

PULLINGER. 

[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]  Jot  it  down  while  you  think  of 
it. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  59 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Taking  another  sheet  of  paper.']    Bousfield 

PULLINGER. 

I  can't  recall  the  number.     It's  a  few  doors  past  the 
"  Stag,"  where  the  omnibuses  stop. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Where    the  'buses    stop  !     No  detail  is  too  trivial  for 
him. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[  Writing.]    ' '  Stag  ' '  —  Finchley  Road 

Pullinger. 
Fulham  Road.    [Moving  away  to  the  armchair?]    Men- 
tion my  name. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Between  her  teeth.]    I  will. 

Pullinger. 
[Sitting.]    Well,  I  was  about  to  tell  you — it  is  a  blend 
of  China  and  India. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
What  is  ? 

Pullinger. 
The  tea. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Distractedly.]    But  we've  finished  with  the  tea. 

Pullinger. 
When    you've    noted    the    proportions.      Two-thirds 
Darjeeling    Orange    Pekoe,    one-third    Paklum    Kaisow. 
[Mrs.    Lovette' s    papers   become    hopelessly   deranged. 


GO  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Some  fall  to  the  ground,  and  these  Rippingill  scrambles 
jot  and  returns  to  lnr.\    Now  you  have  a  mixture. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
You're  right ! 

FULLINGER. 

D-a-r-jdoublc  e-1-i-n-g  Orange  Pekoe 


[There  is  a  gentle  movement  on  the  part  of  the  sus- 
pended doll. 

Rippingill. 

[Advancing to Pullinger.]    Jack— Jack !    [Point- 
ing to  the  doll.']    There — there ! 

Pullinger. 
[Glancing  at  the   doll.~\    Oh,   that's   the    impish  trick 
you've    been    giving    me    an    account    of?    [To    Mrs. 
Lovette.]    P-a-k-1-u-m  K-a-i-s-o-w. 

Rippingill. 

Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Pullinger. 
Rip,  you  are  incorrigible  ! 

Rippingill. 
It  will  break  my  heart  to  remove  it. 

Pullinger. 
By-the-bye,  should  either  of  you  require  any  cheaply- 
dressed  dolls  for  gifts  at  Christmas,  I  am  acquainted  with 
a  thoroughly  deserving  person — the  daughter  of  a  de- 
ceased naval  officer 

Rippingill. 

Marvelous ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  CA 

PULLINGER. 

[77?  Mrs.  Lovette.]  Jot  the  address  down.  Miss 
Tickle — 8,  Appleton  Terrace — Berkhamstead 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

But  I  thought  we  were  to  assemble  here  to  discuss  a 
remedy  for  poor  Mrs.  Rippingill's  infirmity  ! 

Rippingill. 

We  were — we  were  ;  that  is  the  motive  for  this  gather- 
ing. Jack,  my  wife  will  be  back  to  give  us  our  Paklum 
Kaisow 

PULLINGER. 

Yes,  yes  ;  thanks  for  the  hint.  [To  Mrs.  Lovette, 
gravely!]    Spell  it  precisely  as  you  would  do  it. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
As  I  would  do  what  ? 

PULLINGER. 

Tickle — Miss  T-i-c-k-1-e  — — - 

Rippingill. 

[77?  Mrs.  Lovette.]  Dora,  I  have  furnished  Jack — 
Mr.  Pullinger — at  some  length,  I  fear 

PULLINGER. 

No,  no. 

Rippingill. 

With  the  salient  features  of  the  case.  And  he  agrees 
with  us — don't  you,  Jack? — that  it  is  a  remarkably  puz- 
zling business. 

Pullinger. 

Remarkably — remarkably.  [Stroking  his  tnoustac/ie.'] 
A  young  woman 


<;<2  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPlNGILL. 

Three-and-twenty. 

•     Mrs.  Lovette. 
Allowing  for  miscalculation,  hve-and-twenty 

PULLINGER. 

[Shaking  his  head.  ]    No,  I  should  say  three-and-twenty 
on  the  outside. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Ah! 

PULLINGER. 

1  mean,  at  the  outside. 

RlPPlNGILL. 

At  any  rate,  young. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Married  to  a  man  still  in  his  prime 

RlPPlNGILL. 

[With  drooping  lids.']    Thank  you,  Dora.     I  am  forty- 
four. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Who  is  extremely  well-to-do— oh,  more— rich 

RlPPlNGILL. 

In  friends,  at  least. 

PULLINGER. 

She  exchanging,  I    understand,  the  most  modest  sur- 
roundings   

RlPPlNGILL. 

Boarding-house  in  Paddington 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  63 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Tomato  soup,  halibut,  and  mutton 

PULLINGER. 

For  a  condition  which  closely  approaches  luxury. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Exactly. 

PULLINGER. 

By-the-way,  if  you,  Rip,  or  you,  Mrs.  Lovette,  are 
ever  asked  to  recommend  a  moderate-priced  but  excel- 
lent boarding  establishment 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Under  her  breath. ~\    My  patience! 

PULLINGER. 

There  is  one  in  Keppel  Street,  Bloomsbury,  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  mews  on  the  right. 

Rippingill. 
We  mustn't  lose  time,  Jack. 

PULLINGER. 

Going  east — Madeira  Mansion. 

Rippingill. 

[Hastily,  to  Mrs.  Lovette.]  Put  it  down— down 
with  it. 

PULLINGER. 

And  yet,  reverting  to  your  wife,  in  spite  of  her  altered 
position — enhanced  status — liberal  allowance — [to  Rip- 
pingill] I  am  assuming  liberal  allowance 

Rippingill. 
[With  dignity. ~\    You  may,  confidently. 


64  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
You  ought  to  keep  nothing  from  us,  Seymour — from 
Mr.  Pullinger. 

RlPPINGILL. 

\_Hitrt.~]    I  have  no  such  desire.     Do  you  accuse  me  of 

the  attempt  ? 

Pullinger. 

No,  no. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  apologize  sincerely. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Five  hundred  a  year. 

Pullinger. 
Ample. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Pro  rata. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Generous  to  excess.     Her  trousseau  amounted  to  little 

enough,  I  expect.     Her  trousseau ?    [Rippingill  is 

silentJ]    There  ought  to  be  no  reserve,  Seymour.     Her 
trousseau ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Six. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Hah  !     And  after  all  you  have  heaped  upon  her ! 

Pullinger. 
Not  a  smile. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  65 

RlPPlNGILL. 

Never  a  smile. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Devil  a  sm — never  a  smile  !     Now,  Mr.  Pullinger ! 

RlPPlNGILL. 

Now,  Jack! 

Pullinger. 

[Stroking  his  moustache.~\  Well,  the  conclusion  I  arrive 
at — bearing  in  mind  that  Mrs.  Rippingill  is  at  an  age 
when  the  animal  spirits  should  be  at  their  height 

RlPPlNGILL. 

Yes,  Jack  ? 

Pullinger. 
Is  that,  either  the  young  lady  was  bom  without  a  sense 
of  humor— [Rippingill  sits  in  the  chair  by  the  piano  de- 
jectedly^— in  which  contingency,  Rip,  you  will  have  to 
make  the  best  of  your  bargain 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Ah,  1  was  afraid,  dear  Seymour ! 

Pullinger. 
Or  that  this  is  an  uncommon  instance  of  a  sense   of 
humor  remaining  dormant  in  defiance  of  nature,  and  not- 
withstanding the  stimulating  artifices  which  have  been 
freely  employed  to  arouse  it. 

Rippingill. 
In  the  latter  event ? 

Pullinger. 
Ordinary  expedients  having  failed,  it  is  clear  that  there 
is  nothing  for  you  but  to  take  measures  of  a  drastic  de- 
scription. 


66  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

Drastic ? 

PULLINGER. 

I  don't  counsel  them.      I  recollect  that  when,  in  93,  my 
brother  and  I  turned  our  concern  into  a  company 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[To  herself. ~\    Oh,  lord  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Yes,  yes,  Jack,  but  the  measures— the  measures ? 

PULLINGEK. 

{Deliberately, .]    A    violent    upheaval   of  the    stagnant 
forces. 

RlPPINGILL. 

A  violent  upheaval ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Of  the  stagnant  forces  ! 

PULLINGER. 

Brought  about  by  the  administering  of  a  shock— a  se- 
vere shock. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Sounds  pretty  horrible. 

PULLINGER. 

The  object  being  to  shift,  so  to  speak,  at  one  stroke  the 
centre  of  gravity. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Rising.]    Oh,  no,  no,  no  ;  inhuman  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Rising, ~\    Oh,  too  cruel,  Jack  ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  07 

PULLINGEK. 

Desperate,  I  agree  ;  and  I  repeat,  I  am  far  from  urging 
the  experiment.  [Tapping  his  cane  against  the  legs  of  the 
settee  on  the  right.']  Where  did  you  find  all  this  light 
stuff,  Rip  ? 

Rippingill. 
[Impatiently.]    Oh,  dash  the  light  stuff ! 

PULLINGEK. 

There's  a  shop  in  Vienna,  the  finest  in  the  world  for 
this  kind  of  thing 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Oh! 

PULLINGEK. 

Karntner  Strasse.     Number — number? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
But  what  sort  of  a  shock  ? 

PULLINGER. 

[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]  Put  it  down  before  you  forget  it. 
Rothberger  &  Steinmetz 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
.    {Emphatically.]    Mr.  Pullinger 

Rippingill. 

[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]  Oh,  stick  it  down — stick  it  down  ! 
[Snatching  up  her  notes,  she  seats  herself  at  the  oval  tabic 
and  makes  a  pretense  of  writing.]  Jack,  what  sort  of  a 
shock? 

Pullinger. 

Such  a  shock  as  would  result  from  the  news,  abruptly 
communicated,  of  some  heavy  calamity 


68  .1     WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

Trumped-up? 

PULLINGER. 

Obviously  ;  so  that  the  sensation  of  relief  which-  en- 
sued   

RlPPINGILL. 

[Incredulously."]  Would  do  the  job.  Ah,  my  dear 
Jack! 

PULLINGER. 

Might  do  it  ;  I  don't  vouch  for  it.  But  I  defend  the 
strict  logic  underlying  the  theory.  Misfortune — deliver- 
ance ;  rain — sunshine 

RlPPINGILL. 

Floods  of  tears — shrieks  of  merriment.  For  exam- 
ple, if  I  were  to  get  myself  thrown  out  of  my  dog- 
cart  ? 

PULLINGER. 

Certainly. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Or  your  automobile ? 

PULLINGER. 

Yes. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Seating  himself  on  the  settee  on  the  left.']  With  you  as 
chauffeur,  that  could  easily  be  managed,  Jack.  Ha,  ha, 
ha! 

PULLINGER. 

Financial  ruin  may  serve  equally  well. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  69 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Picking  up  the  book  which  Mrs.  Lovette  has  been 
reading.]  Poor  Avis  !  Restore  her  to  auntie  for  a  fort- 
night, eh  ?     More  sealing-wax  soup,  more  woolly  halibut, 

more  sinewy  mutton 

[Mrs.  Lovette,  with  closed  eyes,  has  been  ma- 
nipulating the  Planchctte.  Suddenly  she  utters 
an  exclamation. 


Oh! 

Eh! 

The  Plane hette  ! 


Mrs.  Lovette. 

PULLINGER  and  RlPPINGILL. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 


RlPPINGILL. 

Oh,  are  you  at  that  Planchette  again,  Dora? 

PULLINGER. 

[Rising  and crossing  to  Mrs.  Lovette.]   Planchette? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Showing  him   what   the    Planchette   has   written.']    I 
asked  the  Planchette  to  supply  a  key  to  a  method  of  pro- 
curing the  violent  upheaval 

PULLINGER. 

[Stooping  to  read  the  writing.']    D — i — v 

Mrs.  Lovette. 


"  Divorce"  !     Isn't  it  queer— every  letter ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Referring  to  the  book.]    Of  course  !     You've  been  sat- 
urating   yourself   with   this,    Dora.    [Quoting  the   title.] 


70  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

"  Prince  Kurasco's  Divorce."  |  Throwing  the  book  down 
irritably.'}    Mudie  is  continually  annoying  me  in  this  way. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
\_To  Pullinger,  putting  her  finger  to  her  lip.]    How  in- 
considerate of  us  !      Hush  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

{Overhearing  her."]    Inconsiderate!     Ha,  ha,  ha  !    Not 

you,  dear  old' friends.  [Rising  and  walking  away  to  the 
smoking-table,  where  he  Jitls  his  pipe.-]  Luckily,  I'm  not 
as  thin-skinned  as  all  that. 

PULLINGER. 

Thin-skinned!  Why  should  you  be,  Rip?  You  weren't 
the  party  in  error.  [Stroking  his  moustache.']  Divorce ! 
Ha  !  strange,  following  upon  our  talk 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Why? 

PULLINGER. 

I  was  reading,  the  other  day,  a  report  in  one  of  the 
papers  of  a  singular  piece  of  negligence  on  the  part  of  a 
man  who,  like  Rip,  had  been  under  the  painful  necessity 
of  divorcing  his  wife. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Shortly. .]    Oh,  ah? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Rising  and  coming  to  Pullinger  as  he  sits  upon  the 
settee  on  the  left.]    Negligence  ? 

Pullinger. 
H'm  !     What  were  the  circumstances?     Yes,  yes  ;  he 
had  married  again  too. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  71 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Sitting  on  the  settee  on  the  right,  cramming  tobacco 
into  his  pipe.']    Ha,  ha!  very  interesting. 

PULLINGEK. 

It  was  that  which  rendered  his  neglect  the  more  disas- 
trous. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Neglect  ?     Neglect  to  do  what  ? 

PULLINGER. 

To  apply  to  the  Court,  according  to  the  prescribed 
form,  to  have  his  Decree  Nisi  made  absolute.  The  cause 
of  the  oversight  slips  my  memory  for  the  moment. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
He  should  have  done  it  six  months  after ? 

Pullixger. 
Before  remarriage,  at  all  events. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

So  his  second  marriage  was  a — a  what-d'ye-call  it?  a 
fizzle  ? 

Pullixger. 
Void.     Fortunately  the  Court,  after  a  lot  of  cavilling, 
took  a  lenient  view  of  the  fellow's  conduct. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

But  in  the  meantime  he  had  to  explain  to  Number 
Two ? 

Pullinger. 
That  she  was  not,  in  fact,  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
What  a  shock  ! 


72  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

PULLINGER. 

Shock — quite    so.      Now,    there    was    a    shock,   if   you 
please. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The  poor  woman's  humiliation — suspense ! 

PULLINGER. 

Uncomfortable    sojourn    with   her   parents    or  guard- 
ians   

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Months  of  tomato  soup  and  halibut  perhaps 

PULLINGER. 

Ending,  we'll  hope,  in  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  mishap. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  see  !      Mr.  Pullinger,  you   are  wonderful  !    {Checking 
her  enthusiasm.]    Oh,  but  surely  you  don't  propose  that 
Seymour  should  invent  such  a  tale  ? 

Pullinger. 

No,  no,  no.     It's  merely  curious — the  Planchette  put- 
ting the  idea  into  one's  head. 

\_An  inarticulate  sound  proceeds  from  Rippingill, 
and  his  pipe  fails  to  the  floor.  Turning  to  him, 
Mrs.  Lovette  and  Pullinger  are  startled 
by  the  expression  upon  his  face. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
{Advancing  to  him.']    Seymour  ! 

Pullinger. 
Rip ? 

Rippingill. 
J_jack 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  73 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
What's  wrong  ?     Are  you  ill  ? 

PULLINGER. 

[Joining  Mrs.  Lovette.]    You  don't  feel  well,  Rip? 

RlPPINGILL. 

D — Dora,  this  is  an  extraordinary  development 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Development  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

M — m — most  unlooked  for 

PULLINGER. 

What  is  unlooked  for  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

My  dear  friends,  I — I — 1  am  embarrassed  at  having  to 
inform  you — my  Decree  Nisi  has  not  been  made  ab- 
solute. 

Pullinger  «;;rf  Mrs.  Lovette. 

Not! 

RlPPINGILL. 

No.  [Rising  unsteadily .]  Barlow — old  Barlow — Bar- 
low   

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Barlow  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

My  solicitor — you  remember  him,  Jack  ? — Barlow  died 
within  a  fortnight  of  the  hearing  of  my  case  ;  [dazed~\ 
and  then — [clasping  his  brow\  excuse  me — then  his  man- 
aging clerk,  also  a  solicitor 


74  .1     WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

PULLINGER. 

Yes,    yes  ;     Alfred     Parker     Gilmour — convicted     of 
fraud 

Rippingill. 
He  misappropriated  a  spinster-lady  at  Wimbledon 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
No,  no. 

Rippingill. 
I  beg  your  pardon — converted  her  to  his  own  use 

PlILLINGER. 

Her  money,  you  are  trying  to  say 

Rippingill. 

Yes — and  so  the  whole  Barlow  concern  ceased  to  exist. 
Oh,  my  dear  friends  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
But  haven't  you  been  near  another  lawyer ? 

PULLINGER. 

What  about  your  marriage  settlement— -your  will ? 

Rippingill. 
The  aunt  wished  me  to  employ  a  man  she  knows  at 
Bath. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Interfering  old  idiot  ! 

Pullinger. 
Didn't  he  raise  the  point  ? 

Rippingill. 
No. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  75 

PULLINGER. 

This  is  rather  a  serious  blunder,  Rip. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Father  ! 

PULLINGER. 

Do  you  mean  to  assure  us  solemnly  that  it  utterly  es- 
caped you ? 

Rippingill. 

I  pledge  you  my  honor  the  matter  has  never  crossed 
my  mind  till  this  moment. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
As  a  specimen  of  gross  carelessness ! 

Rippingill. 
I  can  only  suppose  that  from  the  day  1  met  Avis 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

You  lost  what  you  are  conceited  enough  to  call  your 
head. 

Rippingill. 
.    Oh,  if  you  hadn't  been  abroad,  Jack ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Pacing  (he  room.']    Well,  here's  a  nice  to-do  ! 

PULLINGER. 

[Following  Iter  example^     Dear,   dear,    dear !     Bless 
my  soul  and  body  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
What  do  you  advise,  Mr.  Pullinger  ? 


76  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

PULLINGER. 

Merciful  powers!  This  reminds  me  of  a  dispute  I  was 
once  mixed  up  with,  over  a  patent. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Oh,  does  it! 

PULLINGER. 

You  have  heard  I've  invented  an  automatic  lusreaee- 
label?  bh  * 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
{Hysterically.}    No  !      Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

PULLINGER. 

It's  too  heavy  at  present — four  pounds,  seven 
ounces 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Don't !     I  shall  shriek  aloud  ! 

PULLINGER. 

Yes,  yes  ;  we're  wandering  from  the  subject.  [Sitting 
on  the  settee  on  the  right.~\  Our  poor  friend  !  {To  RlPPlN- 
GILL,  who  is  scaled  in  the  bay-window,  his  back  towards 
them,  gazing  at  the  prospect.']  Rip,  how  long  have  we  been 
chums?     Rip 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Anxiously.']    Seymour ! 

[Rippingill   rises  and  comes  forward,  icily  com- 
posed. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Wiping  his  lips.'}  Ahem!  My  dear  old  Jack— my 
dear  old  Dora — [correcting  himself]  my  dear  Dora — I 
don't  know  whether  I  am  entitled  to  have  a  voice 

PULLINGER. 
Who  is,  if  not  yourself? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  77 

RlPPINGILL. 

But  if  yes,  I  should  be  disposed  strongly  to  deprecate  ^* 
anything  approaching  undue  excitement. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Behind the  armchair.']    It's  all  very  well 

RlPPINGILL. 

It  may  be  that  my  lengthy  service  in  a  Government 
office,  where  hardly  a  year  passed  in  which  some  question 
did  not  arise  demanding  prompt  and  intelligent  treatment 
—it  may  be,  I  say,  that  my  official  training  gives  me  a 
certain  advantage  over  both  of  you  in  dealing  with  un- 
expected crises. 

PULLINGER. 

Considerable  advantage. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Encouraged.]  I  am  in  a  difficulty — let  us  concede 
that 

PULLINGER. 

Grave  difficulty. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Ghastly. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Faltering.]  Granting  the  ghastliness  of  the  gravity  of 
the  difficulty — granting  the  gravity  of  the  ghastliness — of 
the 

PULLINGER. 

[Helpfully.]    Granting  it,  Rip ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Rallying.]  Granting  if,  what  then?  Why,  the  diffi- 
culty has  to  be  cracked,  the  nut  dispelled — er — faced 

PULLINGER. 

We  understand. 


78  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RIPPINGILL. 

Meanwhile  it  is  essential  to  preserve  a  stiff  head,  hold 
one's  upper  lip  erect— er 

PULLINGKK. 

All  right. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The  other  way  round. 

RlPPINGILL. 

And  to  take  care  that  one's  every  act  shall  continue  to 
be  informed  by  a  sense  of  humor.  We  must  not  forget 
that,  disconcerting  as  this  deplorable  complication  is  to 
those  immediately  involved,  to  the  callous  onlooker  it  is 
not  without  elements  of  gaiety.  [Sitting  on  the  settee  on 
the  left.~\  It  is  in  this  spirit,  therefore,  with  the  support  ot 
my  friends,  that  1  propose  to  set  about  dispelling  the — 
cracking  the— facing  the  Gordian  knot  in  which  I  find 
myself  plunged. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Advancing  to  Rippingill.]  Bravo,  Seymour  !  You 
read  us  a  lesson.  I  am  sorry  I  allowed  myself  to  be  car- 
ried away.  [Rippingill  takes  her  hand '.]  I  was  think- 
ing of  your  wife 

PULLINGER. 

[Stroking  his  moustache .]  Or  whatever  she  is  for  the 
time  being 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Poor  thing  !      We  may  summon  our  sense  of  humor  to 
our  aid  ;  but  she / 

PULLINGER. 

[Suddenly^    Hah  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Start led.~\    What  now  ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  79 

PULLINGER. 


The  shock  ! 
Eh? 


Mrs.  Lovette. 


PULLINGER. 

[Rising.]   The  shock ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Ah,  yes  ! 

PULLINGER. 

My  dear  Rip,  this  misfortune — this  temporary  misfor- 
tune— may  prove  a  blessing  in  disguise.  Here  we  have, 
thrust  upon  us,  the  necessity  of  putting  my  theory  to  the 
test. 

Rippixgill. 
[Abstractedly, .]    Theory  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Jogging his  shoulder.]   The  violent  upheaval 

RlPPINGILL. 

Of  course — stagnant  forces.     Ha,  ha  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[  Walking  away  excitedly  as  Pullinger  comes  to  Rip- 
PINGILL.]    Oh,  gracious  ! 

Pullinger. 
[Standing  over  Rippingill.]  You  follow  the  line  of 
procedure  ?  You  break  the  distressing  news  to  the  young 
lady — her  entire  mental  and  moral  organization  reels 
under  it.  Then  comes  a  period  of  doubt  and  apprehen- 
sion. This  we  will  call,  for  future  identification,  the 
Interregnum.  [RlPPINGILL  rises  feebly .]  So  far,  so  good. 
[Buttonholing  RlPPINGILL.]  You  apply  to  the  Court — 
the  Court  sympathizes,  if  not  with  you,  with  her.     That 


80  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

is  the  period  of  Revulsion.  Again  you  go  through  the 
ceremony  of  marriage,  and — unless  I  am  woefully  mis- 
taken  she  departs  lor  her  second  honeymoon  wreathed 

in  smiles.     That  is  the  Climax. 

RlPPINGILL. 
[  Biting  his   nails.]    Ha,  ha !      Pretty  rough   time  till 

then,  Jack. 

PULLINGER. 

Well,  well,  but  your  sense  of  humor 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
\_0)i  the  other  side  a/'Pullinger.]    You  are  resolved  to 
take  it  all  lightly,  Seymour. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Walking  to  and  fro.]  Haven't  I  said  as  much? 
[Snapping his  fingers. .]  Lightly!  [The  doll  dances .]  Ah, 
dear  old  Haynes  is  up-stairs,  isn't  lie?  Biing  him  down. 
[Mrs.  Lovette  runs  out,  and  footsteps  are  heard  rapidly 
ascending  and  descending  the  stairs.  Rippingill  con- 
stilts  his  watch  anxiously.']  Quite  a  happy  accident— all 
my  best  friends  round  me. 

PULLINGER. 

[With gusto,  hobbling  about.]    Nearing  the  tea-hour? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Replacing  his  watch.]    Yes. 

PULLINGER. 

[Tugging  at  his  moustache.]    Ah  !   ah  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Snatching  a  flower  from  a  vase  and  slicking  it  in  his 
coat — scowling  at  Pullinger  as  he  does  so.]  You  relish 
the  situation,  Jack. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  81 

PULLINGER. 

Nothing,   nothing  since  the  inception  of  my   luggage- 
label  has  held  me  in  so  tight  a  grip. 

[Mrs.  Lovette  returns  out  of  breath,  and  joins 
PULLINGER  on  the  left.  She  is  followed  by 
Webbmarsh,  who  enters  quickly,  looking  about 
him  and  sniffing.  His  hair  is  ruffled,  and 
one  of  his  locks  is  tied  up  with  a  colored  ribbon. 

Webbmarsh. 
Eh — eh?     I  don't  detect  anything. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Detect  ? 

Webbmarsh. 
Didn't  you  say  there  was  a  smell  of  burning  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Shaking  her  head.']    No. 

[Christabel  hurries  in  and  clings  to  Webb- 
marsh 's  arm. 

Webbmarsh. 
[Patting  her  hand  reassuringly.']    It  is  all  right,  dearest ; 
there's  no  cause  for  alarm. 

Christabel. 
Is  it  out? 

Webbmarsh. 
We  misunderstood  Mrs.  Lovette,  Christabel 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  apologize  for  approaching  the  seat  of  learning 

Webbmarsh. 
Learning — burning — ah  !     The   door  was  rattled  with 
such  violence 


82  .1     WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

CHRIS!  A.B] 

[Faintly.]    Oh! 

Webbmarsh. 
[Passing  her  across   to  the  settee  on  the  left.]    Recover 
yourself.  "[Mrs.   Lovette  fetches  a  carafe  of  water  and  a 
tumbler  from  the  sideboard.]    The  fact  is,  I  happened  to 
be  in  the  thick  of  an  intensely  interesting  chapter- 

RlPPINGILL. 

[On  (Jie  right  with  an  attempt  at  airiness.]  Entirely  my 
fault,  Haynes  ;  the  interruption  proceeded  from  me.  I 
— ah — I  —  I've  something  to  tell  you 

Christabel. 
[Pushing  Mrs.    Lovette    aside    and  jumping  up.] 

Haynes ! 

[She  removes  the  ribbon,  which  matches  the  trim- 
ming of  her  dress,  from  Webbmarsh's  hair. 

Webbmarsh. 
Oh— ah — yes.     [In     explanation.]     Sharp    attack    of 
headache — an  excellent  counter-irritant 


PULLINGER. 

[Hastening  to  him.]  Do  you  wish  to  know  of  an  in- 
fallible cure  for  a  headache,  Mr.  Webbmarsh  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

[Sententiously.]  Is  there  a  more  efficacious  one  than 
the  ministering  hand  and  unremitting  solicitude  of  a  de- 
voted wife  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Absorbed  in  his  own  affairs.]  Apropos  of  wives,  dear 
old  friend,  would  it  surprise  you  to  learn  that  you — ah — 
ha,  ha  ! — that  you  have  the  advantage  of  me  ? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  83 

Webbmarsh. 

Advantage ? 

PULLINGER. 

Fold  an  ordinary  pocket-handkerchief  so  that  it  forms 
a  bandage  not  exceeding  four  inches  in  width 

Webbmarsh. 
Thank  you. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Yes,  I— I— ah— ha,  ha!— I'm  not  married,  Haynes. 

Webbmarsh. 
Not  married  ? 

Pullinger. 
Soak  it  with  one  gill  of  pure  spirit  of  wine 

RlPPINGILL. 

When  I  say  I  am  not  married,  I  mean  I  am  not  mar- 
ried to  the  lady  who  for  the  last  few  weeks  has  honored 
me  by  bearing  my  name. 

Pullinger. 
[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]    Give  me  a  scrap  of  paper. 

Webbmarsh. 
[To  RlPPINGILL.]    Really? 

Christabel. 
[Who   is  again  upon  the  settee  on  the  /eft.~\    Oh,   Mr. 
Rippingill,  you  terrible  man  !     How  ran  you  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Earnestly.']    No,  but  really,  really,  Haynes,  I 

Christabel  and  Webbmarsh. 
[Laughing perfunctorily.]    Ha,  ha,  ha! 


84  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

PULLINGER. 

[Handing  Webbmarsh  a  piece  of  paper. \    Jot  it  clown 
while  you  think  of  it. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ha  vines • 

Webbmarsh. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  !    [To  PullinGER.]    Jot  what ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Excuse  me,  Jack 

PULLINGER. 
[To  WEBBMARSH.]    Fold  an  ordinary  pocket-handker- 
chief  

Webbmarsh. 
[Producing    a    "fountain"   pen  from    his    waistcoat 
pocket,  irritably.']    Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes 

RlPPINGILL. 

Jack,  may   I    have    the    benefit    of  my  friend  Webb- 
marsh's  undivided  attention  for  a  minute  or  two? 

PULLINGER. 

Certainly,  certainly. 

Webbmarsh. 
[To  Rippingill.]    I'm  listening;  [writing]  " — spirit 
of  wine "  ;  you  go  on  with  your  little  joke 

RlPPINGILL. 

Joke!    [  With  dignity. ~\    My  dear  Hay nes 

PULLINGER. 

[To  Webbmarsh.]    What  pen  is  that  you  carry? 

[Rippingill  sinks  exhausted  on  to  the  settee  on  the 
ri^lit. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Webbmarsh. 
[Sitting  in  the  armchair.~\    One  of  de  la  Hay's. 

PULLINGER. 

{Producing  his  own  pocket-pen. ~\    This  is  the  tie  plus 
ultra 

RiPPINGILL. 

[To  Mrs.  Lovette,  appealingly.~\    Dora ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Coming forward— /o  Christabel.]    Mrs.  Webbmarsh, 
the  information  Mr.  Rippingill  has  been  struggling  to  im- 
part to  your  husband  is  perfectly  accurate. 

Christabel. 
.Mrs.  Lovette  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Our  generous  host  and  hostess  are  not  at  present  en- 
titled to  consider  themselves  married  people. 

Christabel. 
Great  heavens  !    Haynes  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

Eh? 

Christabel. 

[Rising,  her  eyes  flashing.']    Haynes,  this  is  scarcely  a 
fitting  time  for  preparing  pocket-pens  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

Christabel ? 

Christabel. 
Don't  you  hear!     It  appears  that  Mr.  Rippingill  lias 
spoken   the  truth.     The  lady  we   have  been  induced  to 
accept  as  Mrs.  Rippingill ! 


B6  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Webbmarsh. 
What?   [Turning  to  Rippingill.]    No,  no,  no  ;  impos- 
sible. 

RIPPINGILL. 

\_With  a  weak  smile.']     Many  things  are  improbable, 
nothing  is  impossible — my  favorite  aphorism. 

[Pullinger  discreetly  wanders  away  into  the  hall. 
Webbmarsh  rises  and  confronts  Rippingill. 

Webbmarsh. 
I  shall  feel  obliged,  Rippingill,  in  the  first  place,  by 
your  refraining  from  confounding  an  aphorism  with  an 
apothegm  ;  in  the  second 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

My   dear    Mrs.    Webbmarsh — my    dear    Mr.    Webb- 
marsh  

Webbmarsh. 
In  the  second 


Mrs.  Lovette. 
When  you  have  been  put  in  possession  of  all  the  cir- 


cumstances 


Rippingill. 
You  will  see  that  they  have  a  distinctly  humorous  side. 

Webbmarsh  and  Christabel. 
Humorous  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Yes,  yes.     The  poor  dear  man  has  omitted  to  have  his 
Decree  Nisi  made  absolute. 

Webbmarsh. 
Omitted ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  ,87 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Entirely  slipped  my  memory,  Haynes. 
Ha,  ha  ! 

Webbmarsh. 
[Joining   CHRXSTABEL.]     My   darling,   I    cannot   ade- 
quately express  my  regret  that  this  revelation,  it  it  had  to 
be  made,  has  been  made  in  your  presence. 

Christabel. 
Well,  but,  Haynes ! 

Webbmarsh. 
This,  however,  I  do  insist  upon — that  your  ears  shall 
be  sullied    by   no   unsavory   details  ;    although,   happily, 
you  would  be  unable  to  grasp  their  full  import. 

Christabel. 

[Advancing-  to  Rippingill  incredulously '.]  But,  Mr. 
Rippingill,  do  you  solemnly  sit  there  and  expect  us  to 
believe  that  you  never  remembered  to  get  your  Decree 
rounded  off? 

Rippingill. 
Yes,  Mrs.  Webbmarsh. 

Christabel. 

[Shrilly.']  You  didn't  rush  into  Court  almost  before 
your  six  months  were  up  ! 

Rippingill. 
[Rising.]    No. 

Christabel. 

Oh !  Why,  that's  the  very  first  thing  that  would  occur 
to  me  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Involuntarily.]    Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 


88  a  Wife  without  a  smii.i- 

Webbmarsh. 

Ma'am!  [Drawing  CHRISTABEL  away.\  Christabel, 
your  ingenuousness  is  open  to  misconstruction.  [Facing 
RlPPINGILL.]  I  can  tolerate  much,  Rippingill,  in  a 
wanton  age,"  but  not  that  you  should  have  allowed  my 
wife — this  young  wife  of  mine  ! — to  be  received  into  an 
establishment  where,  to  employ  no  harsher  term,  the  re- 
lations between  host  and  hostess  are  of  an  irregular  char- 
acter. 

Rippingill. 
[Losing  his  temper.^    Look  here,  Webbmarsh ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Coining  between  them.~\   Seymour 

Rippingill. 

You'll  pardon  me  if,  at  this  juncture,  any  question  af- 
fecting your  young  wife  becomes,  to  my  mind,  of  minor 
importance. 

Webbmarsh. 
Minor ! 

Christabel. 
Hush  !     We  are  under  Mr.  Rippingill' s  roof,  Haynes. 

Webbmarsh. 
No,    this   is   not   the    main    building ;  this   is   an  out- 
house. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Minor   importance!    [Referring   to   Christabel.]    Of 
course,  she  is  of  minor  importance  for  the  moment.     We 
all  are,  except  the  little  woman  who  has  to  be  slapped  in 
the  face  directly  with  this  awful  intelligence. 

Webbmarsh. 
Has  to  be ? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  89 

Christabel. 
Has  to  be  !     What,  isn't  she  aware ? 


Mrs.  Lovette. 
No  ;  or  you  wouldn't  be  here,  or  I — enjoying  ourselves 
as  we're  doing.     The  stupid  muddle  has  only  just  been 
discovered. 

Webbmarsh. 

My  dear  madam,  my  dear  Seymour,  I  have  been  la- 
boring under  a  slight  misconception. 

Christabel. 
Haynes,  what  a  tragedy  we  are  assisting  at  ! 

Webbmarsh. 
I  confess,  Christabel,  that  we  ought  to  have  been  more 
prompt  in  assuming  the  ignorance  of  this  ill-starred  lady. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Hah! 

Webbmarsh. 
But  my  self-reproach    is    lightened   by  the    reflection 
that  my  attitude  was  due  to  the  ambiguity  of  our  friend's 
utterances. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ambiguity  ? 

Webbmarsh. 
[Taking  out  his  watch.']    Unfortunate  ambiguity. 

RlPPINGILL. 
I  will  endeavor,  then,  to  avoid  ambiguity,  Webbmarsh, 
in  my  method  of  informing  you  that,  no  matter  how  un- 
satisfactory your  visit  to  Taplow   will   have  been  to  you, 
it  has  been  no  less  so  to  me. 


90  .1     WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Webbmarsh. 
\  Looking  at  his  watch.]    If  there  is  a  decent  train 

Christabel. 

No,  no,  Haynes;  I  will  not  forsake  tins  girl  in  such  an 
emergency. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  should  think  not,  indeed.     Seymour,  no  rupture. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Ignoring  Mrs.  Lovette  and  advancing  to  Webb- 
marsh.]  You  were  asked  here — I  frankly  avow  it — to  be 
entertaining — funny 

Webbmarsh. 
Funny  ! 

Christabel. 
Funny  !  my  husband  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Funny.  Oh,  don't  imagine  that  I  have  forgotten — 
that  I  shall  ever  forget— your  story,  with  imitations,  of 
the  Bandy-legged  Ballet. 

Christabel. 

The  Bandy-legged  Ballet  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Bandy-legged ? 

Christabel. 
[Elevating  her  eyebrows.']    I  lay  nes,  what  is  this  ? 

Webbmarsh. 
\Uneasily  |    Dearest,  an    idle    reminiscence  of  a  sub- 
urban pantomime 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    UMILE  91 

Christabel. 
With  imitations  ! 

Rippingill. 

Ha  !  How  often  have  I  seen  you,  in  response  to  a 
general  invitation,  pirouetting  round  my  jovial  bachelor 
board  !     Omnia  mutantur / 

Christabel, 
[Flouncing  to  the  window  in  a  pet.']    Oh  ! 

Webbmarsh, 

\_Following  herJ\    Christabel ! 

[Pullinger  has  returned  and  lias  seated  himself 
at  the  piano.  He  now  commences,  in  a  heavy, 
laborious  manner,  to  play  a  light  tune.  The 
instrument  being  "set"  with  its  back  to  the 
spectator,  the  player  is  out  of  sight. 

Rippingill. 

Who's  that?  {Discovering  Pullinger — to  Mrs.  Lov- 
ette.]  Stop  him  !  [Dropping  on  to  the  settee  on  the  left, 
holding  his  head.]    Oh,  stop  him  ! 

[Mrs.  Lovette  hurries  to  Pullinger.  Webb- 
marsh  and  Christabel  are  indulging  in  a 
lively  altercation. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Mr.  Pullinger — Mr.  Pullinger 


Pullinger. 

[  '/'humping  at  the  keys.~\  Rip,  you  should  treat  yourself 
to  one  of  those  ingenious  piano-players  which  are  all  the 
rage. 

Rippingill, 

[Groaning.  ]    Should  I  ? 


<):.>  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

PULLINGER. 

1   can  give   you   an  invaluable   tip.     The  Simplicitas — 
incomparably  the  best  and  cheapest. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Silting  in  the  chair  by  the  piano.  J    Phew  ! 

Christabel. 
[_///  the  distance,  to  Webbmarsh.]    You  swore  I  knew 
your  past ! 

Webbmarsh. 
You  do,  you  do. 

Pullinger. 
In  oak,  forty-two  guineas.     Jot  it  down  while  you  think 
of  it. 

RlPPlNGILL. 
[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]    Jot  it  down— down  with  it— —  ! 
[Mrs.  Lovette  flies  to  the  oval  table  and  writes, 
as  Webbmarsh    advances,  with  an   injured 
air,    dancing  with   bandy-legs   before  Chris- 
tabel. 

Christabel. 
[Eyeing  him  sternly.']    Ho,  to  be  sure  ! 

Pullinger. 
[Playing.']     Hirschlers'—  left-hand     side     of    Maddox 
Street,  going  west — mention  my  name 

RlPPlNGILL. 

[Rallying  under  tin-  influence  of  Webbmarsh' s  dance.] 
Immense,  dear  old  friend!  [Clapping  his  hands.]  Ha, 
ha,  ha  !     Enormous  !      Brilliant ! 

[Avis  outers,  at  the  door  on  the  left,  accompanied  by 
Trood,  ivho  carries  her  cape  and  sunshade. 
The  door  remains  open. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  93 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Rising. ]    Seymour ! 

[She  crosses  over  to  PullinGER  and  shakes  him 
by  the  shoulder.  He  stops  playing  and  Webb- 
MARSH,  seeing  Avis,  walks  away  to  the 
right. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Jumping  up  excitedly, .]  Go  on,  Haynes  !  The  twid- 
dling movement!     Haynes,  twiddle! 

Christabel. 
[Haughtily.']    Certainly  not,  Mr.  Rippingill. 

Avis. 
[lb  everybody  sadly.~\    Ah,  please  don't  let  me  interfere 
with  your  enjoyment. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[  To  Avis.]  If  you  had  been  here  only  a  second  earlier, 
my  pet  !     Irresistible  ! 

Avis. 

[Taking  the  pins  from  her  hat — in  dismal  tones.]  I 
think  it  so  very  kind  of  Mr.  Webbmarsh  to  dance  for 
us  in  this  hot  weather. 

[She  retires  to  the  bay-window  and 'Mrs.  Lovette 
assists  her  to  remove 'her  hat.  TROOD  joins 
them. 

PULLINGER. 

1   [Coming  to  Rippingill — in  a  low  voice.]    Rip,  shall  I 
withdraw  ? 

Rippingill. 

Withdraw  ? 

PULLINGER. 

While  you 


ill  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

While  I— what  ? 

PULLINGER. 

Administer  the  shock. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Dash  it,  you  don't  propose  that  I  should  blurt  it  all  out 
now,  with  a  long  evening  before  us! 

PULLINGER. 

[Disappointed.  |       No  ?       [Puffing     his      moustache.'] 

When ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Miserably.']  After  dinner,  perhaps,  so  that  she  may  be 
borne  straight  off  to  her  bed. 

PULLINGER. 

[Brightening.]  Well,  we  must  look  forward  to  after 
dinner. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Biting  his  nails  again.]    Look  forward  ! 

PULLINGER. 

Come,  come  ;  your  sense  of  humor 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ha,  ha!  yes,  yes.     Still,  one  can't  help 

PULLINGER. 

/  know.  My  dear  Rip,  console  yourself  with  this- — 
I  feel  precisely  as  you  are  feeling  for  at  least  a  month 
before  I  address  the  shareholders  at  our  annual  general 
meetings. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Do  you,  Jack? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    S3IILE  95 

PULLINGER. 

Sssh  ! 

\He  seats  himself  upon  the  settee  on  the  left  as  Avis 
advances. 

Webbmarsh. 

\_Who  has  been  in  consultation  with  CHRISTABEL — 
standing  behind  the  armchair,  in  a  marked  manner  A 
Rippingill,  I  dropped  a  rather  costly  turquoise-and- 
enamel  shirt-stud  in  my  dressing-room  last  night.  It 
belongs  to  a  set  given  me  by  my  mother.  My  wife  and  1 
are  going  up  to  the  house  to  renew  our  search  for  it. 

Rippingill. 

[Behind  his  hand,  to  Webbaiarsh.]  No  disclosure  till 
this  evening.     Postpone  your  search  till  after  dinner. 

Avis. 

[To  Christabel.]  But  why  not  let  the  servants  hunt 
for  it  ? 

Christabel. 

[Rushing  at  Axis  and  embracing  her.']  Oh,  you  sweet, 
sweet  thing  ! 

Avis. 
[Startled.]    Airs.  Webbmarsh. 

Christabel. 

[To  Webbmarsh.]    I  can't  help  it,  Haynes.    [To  Avis, 

tearfully.]  My  darling,  forgive  my  husband's  little  fic- 
tion. Haynes  has  no  shirt-studs,  dearest  ;  lie  wears  but- 
tons— and,  oh,  I  shall  be  in  the  grounds,  close  at  hand, 
when  you  need  me. 

Avis. 
When  I  need  you  ! 


96  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Christabel. 
[Kissing  her  violently?]    Yes,  yes,  yes,  I  intend  to  share 
tins  terrible  trouble  with  you.      Ah,  we  are  nearly  of  the 
same  age,  are  we  not? 

Avis. 
Trouble  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Behind  the  oval  table,  to  herself]    Meddler  ! 

[Throwing  tip  his  hands,  RlPPlNGlLL  sinks  on  to 

the  setter  on  the  right. 

Christabel. 
[Joining  Webbmarsh,  with  a  sob.']    Come,  Haynes  ! 

Webbmarsh. 
[To   her,    as   they    depart.]     Your    impulses   are    fine, 
Christabel,  but  you  have  stamped  me  as  a  liar. 

['They  go  into  the  garden.  Pullinger  rises, 
stroking  his  moustache  eagerly.  Mrs.  Lov- 
ette  moves  to  Avis' s  side. 

Avis. 
[Toohing from  one  to  the  other.]    What  is  it?     What  is 
it  ?    [Entreating ly.]    Oh,  what  is  it  ? 

RlPPlNGlLL. 

[Rising.]    Er — Trood,  my  dear  boy 

Trood. 
[Who  has  been  watching  the  proceedings  with  concern, 
coming  forward.]    Eh — yes ? 

RlPPlNGlLL. 

I — ah — I've  just  received  some  news — er — my  wife's 
aunt 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  97 

Avis. 


Auntie  ! 


Rippingill. 
A  lady  advanced  in  years 

Trood. 
Sorry. 

Rippingill. 

No,  no,  nothing  serious  ;  but  if  you'd  take  two  whiffs 
of  a  cigarette  in  the  garden 

Trood. 
With  pleasure. 

Rippingill. 

I  dare  say  Webbmarsh  will  give  us  permission  to  have 
tea  up-stairs  ;  join  us  there  in  five  minutes. 

Trood. 

I  will. 

\_He  passes  through  the  archivay  and  disappears. 

Avis. 
Aunt  Amy — she  is  unwell ! 

Rippingill. 
She  isn't  exactly  unwell,  my  pet 

Avis. 
Then  she  is — ah ! 

Rippingill. 
No,  no,  no  ;  I  fancy  she  \s  going  to  be  unwell. 

Avis. 
Going  to  be ! 


98  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 
Er — that  is,  upset. 

Avis. 
Upset  at  what  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

A.t  your  returning  to  her  protection  for  a  while,  Avis. 

Avis. 

I  !  Return  to  my  Aunt  Amy  !  [Advancing'  to  him.~\ 
Oh,  why  are  you  so  mysterious?  Why  deceive  me? 
Speak  plainly  ! 

[Pullingek,  getting  rid  of  his  stick,  takes  the 
carafe  of  water  ami  the  tumbler  from  the  oval 
table. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Er— er [To  Mrs.  Lovette.]    Dora ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[To  Avis.]    My  dear  young  lady,  a  most  disagreeable 
discovery  has  been  made  in  the  course  of  this  otherwise 
pleasant  afternoon. 

,  Avis. 

Discovery  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
You  see,  your  husband's  solicitor — your  husband's  late 
solicitor — your     late    husband's    solicitor — ahem! — Mr. 
Rippingill's  solicitor 

Pullingek. 
[Jogging  her  elbow  with  the  water-bottle.']    Water. 
Mrs.  Lovette. 

Eh? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  99 

PULLINGER. 

[}Varningly.~]    Have  some  water  ready. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Don't  fidget  me.    [  To  Avis.]    Seymour's  solicitor — Mr. 
What's-his-name  ? — Mr.  Thing-a-my 

Rippingill. 
Barlow 

PULLINGER. 

[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]    Ready  with  the  water. 

Avis. 
He  has  absconded  ? 

Rippingill. 

In  a  sense. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
He  died.      He  died,  unluckily,  before  he — before 

Rippingill. 
Before 

PULLINGER. 
Before  completing  certain  indispensable  formalities  in 
—in— in  connection  with  a  case  [losing  himself]  in  which 
he  represented  the  united  interests  of'the  shareholders  of 
this 

Rippingill. 

Shareholders ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
What  on  earth ! 

Avis. 
Well!     Well,  well ! 


100  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    S3IILE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Now,  my  child,  I  am  convinced  you  will  be  brave — 
heroic 

Avis. 
Yes,  yes,  I  will  be  strong  ;  I  will  be 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Recollecting  that  the  calamity  which  engulfs  you  is  not 
attributable 

Avis. 
[Panting.]    Oh  !    oh ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Is  not  in  any  way  due 

[Pullinger  has  poured  out  some  water.  He  now 
passes  it  to  Mrs.  Lovette,  who  thoughtlessly 
takes  a  gulp. 

Pullinger. 
[Regaining  the  glass.']    No,  no  ;  it  isn't  for  you. 

RlPPINGILL. 

I  think,  Dora — if  you  will  suffer  me  to  say  so—  -I  think 
that,  in  making  this  communication  to  Avis,  you  are 
selecting  language  which  is  gratuitously  alarming. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Hotly.]  Am  I!  [Turning -away  and  seating  herself  in 
the  chair  by  the  piano.]    Select  your  own  language. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Hastening  to  her.]    My  dear  friend  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Do  it  yourself! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  101 

RlPPINGILL. 

After  all  these  years  of  intimacy,  surely,  surely 


[Avis  drops  on  to  the  settee  on  the  right.  Pul- 
LINGER  goes  to  her,  deposits  the  water-bottle 
and  glass  on  the  small  table,  and  seats  himself 
in  the  armchair. 

PULLINGER. 

\_Dragging  his  chair  nearer  Avis.]  Listen  !  Can  you 
hear  me? 

Avis. 
[Faintly.]    Yes. 

PULLINGER. 

The  Decree  Nisi  pronounced  in  the  case  of  Rippingill 
versus  Rippingill,  Bowen,  Fletcher,  Hedderwick,  and 
Rideout 

Avis. 
Go  on. 

PULLINGER. 

There  were  no  more.  That  Decree  Nisi  has  not, 
owing  to  a  peculiar  combination  of  circumstances,  been 
made  absolute. 

Avis. 
[Sitting  upright.']    What — what  does  that  mean  ? 

PULLINGER. 

It  is  necessary  to  appeal  to  the  Court  to  regularize 
your  position.     Meanwhile 

Avis. 
Meanwhile ? 

PULLINGER. 

You  go  back  to  your  Aunt  Halibut — to  your  Aunt 
Amy 


1(12  A     WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Avis. 
Why — why  should  I  ? 

PULLINGER. 
My  dear  young  friend,  you  can't   continue  to — to — to 
reside    with    a   gentleman   who    is    no    longer — who  has 
never  been — your  husband. 

Avis. 

Never — not !     [Rising    unsteadily^]     Oh!     [Rip- 

pingill  and  Mrs.  Lovette  have  retreated  to  the  bay- 
window  to  settle  their  differences.  He  now  comes  forward 
and  Avis  totters  towards  him."]   Seymour  ! 

PULLINGER. 

[Again  seizing  the  wafer-bottle  and  tumbler,']  I've  told 
her. 

Avis. 

[  To  Rippingill.]    You — you  are  not  my  husband  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Avis 

Avis. 

We — we  are  not  married  ! 

Rippingill. 

M-m-m-my  pet,  I  shall  place  myself  in  the  hands  of 
an  eminent  firm  of  lawyers  the  very  first  thing  on  Mon- 
day morning.  They  will  advise  me  how  I  stand.  Per- 
sonally, I  have  no  doubt  that  the  Court  will  receive  our 
explanation  with  the  utmost  amiability — I  hope,  even 
with  hilarity.  Thank  heaven,  the  English  bench  is 
rich    in   judges    with    a    sense    of   humor.    [She   s?vays.] 

Dora !  ' 

[Mrs.  Lovette  brings  forward  the  chair  which 

stands    by    the    piano.      Avis    sinks    into    it. 

Foley    and    Bates    appear  in   the  archway 

carrying  the  tea,  etc. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  103 

R.IPP1NGILL. 
[7b  the  servants^]    Tea  up-stairs — tea  up-stairs 

Mrs.  Lovette  and  Pl^linger. 

[To  the  servants.]    Up-stairs. 

\_The    servants     withdraw.      Christabel     and 
WEBBMARSH    are   seen,    in  the  garden.      They 
peer  in   at  the  window  and  then  move  away. 
Pullinger  offers  Avis  water ;  she  drinks. 

Avis. 

But — but — but,  Seymour,  suppose  the  Court  should — 
should  refuse ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

Out  of  the  question.  They  may  censure  me  in  a 
slight  degree  ;  they  may  strike  Barlow  off  the  rolls — no, 
they  can't  do  that 

* 

Avis. 
Or — suppose  we — suppose  we  didn't  make  any  appli- 
cation to  the  Court 

RlPPINGILL. 

Avis! 

Avis. 

[Her  head  drooping.]  And — and  that  the  mistake  was 
allowed  to  remain  uncorrected  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Leaving  her  side  indignantly.]  Upon  my  word,  my 
pet,  I'd  rather  you  called  me  a  villain  at  once  ! 

[There  is  a  brief  pause.      Then  she  raises  her  head 
and  a  beautiful  smile  irradiates  her  face. 

Avis. 
[With  a  long-drawn  sigh.]   Ah-h-h-h  ! 


104  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

PULLINGER. 

[Looking closely  into  her face.~\   She  smiles! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
She  smiles ! 

Pullinger  and  Mrs.  Lovette. 
[7b  Rippingill,  who  turns  to  them.']    A  smile  ! 

Avis. 

[Rising,  holding  her  heart.]  Oh !  oh !  [Laughing 
hysterically.]  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha!  How — how  amus- 
ing   ! 

Pullinger  and  Mrs.  Lovette. 
[To  each  other.]    Amusing  ! 

Avis. 

[Retreating  to  the  right,  wiping  her  eyes.]  D-d-don't 
look  at  me  ;  it  has  been  such  a  shock 

Pullinger. 
[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]    A  shock!     Ah,  ha  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[To  Pullinger,  waving  the  Planchette.]  Brava, 
Plane  he  tte  I 

Avis. 
Let  us — let  us  have  tea.    [Going  to  Rippingill  and 
patting  his   cheeks.]    You — you    old    darling  !     Ha,  ha, 

ha!     Tea,  everybody  !      Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha ! 

[She  runs  out  into  the  hall  and  disappears.     Rip- 
pingill follows  her  as  far  as  the  archway  and 
there  remains,  gazing  after  her  with  an  air  of 
dissatisfaction. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  105 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Gratefully]    At  last  ! 

PULLINGER. 
[Hopping  with  delight]    Ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Slapping  him  on  the  back]  1  repeat  it — you  are  simply 
wonderful.  [Shaking  hands  with  RlPPlNGlLL,  who  re- 
joins them]    Seymour,  I  congratulate  you. 

PULLINGEK. 

[Fetching  his  stick,  and  waving  it  in  the  air]  Rip, 
congratulations  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Throwing  her  arms  round  Rippingill.]  I  can't  help 
it ;  I'm  so  rejoiced. 

Rippingill. 

[Freeing  himself  from  her  embrace,  utiresponsively  ] 
Thank  you,  Dora. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Pointing  to  Pullinger,  who  is  now  pacing  the  room  at 
the  back]    Don't  thank  me  ;  thank  him. 

Rippingill. 
[Walking  away  to  the  left]    Oh — ah — yes. 

Pullinger. 

[Coming  forward]  No,  no,  he  has  nothing  to  thank 
me  for.  The  illegality  of  the  dear  old  chap's  second 
union  would  have  come  to  light,  sooner  or  later,  without 
my  aid. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Still,  the  unerring  accuracy  of  your  theory  ! 


106  1     WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

PlfLLINGER. 

[Stroking  his  moustache,  modestly."]  My  dear  lady,  you 
\\  ould  spoil  a  saint. 

Kipping  ill. 

[  Facing  Pullinger,  coldly. ~]  I  am  sorry  to  appear 
hypercritical;  but,  tor  the  lite  of  me,  I  fail  to  see  where 
the  unerring  accuracy  comes  in. 

Pullinger. 
[Astonished.]    Eh  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Seymour  ! 

Rippingill. 

I  don't  recall  that  Pullinger's  theory  provided  for  my 
wife — for  Avis's  laughing  at  the  disaster  itself.  I  under- 
stood—  1  may  be  more  than  usually  obtuse- — 1  understood 
distinctly  that  the  smile  was  to  be  reserved  for  a  subse- 
quent occasion. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Reproachfully.]    Oh,  Seymour! 

Pullinger. 
Perhaps  this  is  a  little  grudging. 

Rippingill. 
There  has  been  no  Interregnum,  you  know. 

Pullinger. 
[Startled.']   Eh? 

Rippingill. 

I  put  it  to  you — has  there  ? 

Pullinger. 
I — ah — I  must  concede 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   S3IILE  107 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ah  !     Nor  has  the  Revulsion  occurred  in  the  manner 
so  confidently  predicted. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Shaken.]    That's  true. 

RlPPINGILL. 

What  has  happened  is,  that  it  has  been  all  Climax. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Nodding  gravely.]    Yes,  yes,  now  one  reflects— it  all 
seemed   to   come    in    a    lump,  didn't   it?    [Eyeing  Pul- 
ling er  uneasily.]    Ahem  ! 

Pullinger. 
[Thoughtfully  stroking  the  floor  with  the  tip  of  his  cane 
— in  a  low  voice.]    Rip,  where  do  you  get  your  carpets  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[In  an  outburst.']    Dash  my  carpets  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Shocked.]    Oh  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

I  tell  you  I  am  not  altogether  satisfied  with  Avis's  be- 
havior.   I [The  suspended  doll  dances  vigorously.    He 

strikes  his  fist  at  it.]  Gurrrh  !  Confound  that  egregious 
reviewer  and  his  gushing  bride !  A  lot  they  care  for 
my  misfortunes  !  [Christamhx  (r;;(/  Webhmarsh  have 
entered  quietly  at  the  door  on  the  left.  Having  his  bark  to 
the  door,  RlPPINGILL  is  unaware  of  their  presence.  Pul- 
LINGER  and  Mrs.  LOVETTE  make  fires  at  him,  and  PUL- 
lixger  taps  him  zuit/i  his  stick.]      By  Jove,  I'll  have  an 

A.  B.  C.  laid  on  her  dressing-table !    [To  Pullinger 

and  Mrs.  Lovette.]    What — what ? 


108  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Webbmarsh. 

Rippingill  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Turning."]    I — I  beg  your  pardon 

[7  he  servants — Foley  and  Bates — appear  in 
the  hall. 

Foley. 
{Standing  in  the  archway .]    Tea  is  waiting,  sir. 

Rippingill. 

\To  Foley.]    Who — who  is  in  the  upper  room  ? 

Foley. 
Mrs.  Rippingill,  sir — and  Mr.  Trood. 

[The  servants  depart. 

Rippingill. 
{After  a  pause.]    Trood  !  ! 

\_He  makes  for  the  staircase.  Mrs.  Lovette  and 
Pullinger  follow  him,  leaving  Webbmarsh 
and  Chrjstabel  watching  the  capers  of  the 
dancing  doll  in  wonderment. 


END  of  the  second  act 


THE  THIRD  ACT 

The  scene  remains  the  same,  and  the  disposition  of  the  fur- 
niture is  exactly  as  at  the  beginning  of  the  preceding 
act.  A  bed-pillow,  a  couple  of  blankets,  and  a  suit  of 
pajamas  on  the  settee  on  the  right  give  evidence  that 
the  settee  has  been  slept  upon.  Some  articles  of  clot h- 
incr — apparently  cast  aside  overnight — a  dressing- 
gown,  and  a  couple  of  bath-towels  litter  the  room, 
Lying  upon  the  settee  on  the  left,  neatly  folded,  are  a 
coat  and  waistcoat;  and  upon  the  small  table  are  a 
mirror,  a  case  of  razors,  a  strop,  a  hot-water  jug,  a 
shaving-pot,  a  set  of  hair-brushes,  and  other  toilet 
requisites. 

The  Planchette  has  gone,    but  the  doll  still  hangs 
from  the  ceiling. 

The  door  on  the  left  is  open,  the  hall-door  closed. 
Outside,  on  the  embankment-wall,  a  man's  bathing- 
dress  is  drying  in  the  morning  sun. 

[Foley  is  valeting  Rippingill,  who  stands,  hag- 
gard and  aged,  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  The 
man  takes  the  waistcoat  and  coat  from  the  settee 
on  the  left  and  puts  Rippingill  into  them. 
There  is  a  knock  at  the  hall-door,  and  Foley 
goes  to  the  door  and  opens  it.  Bates,  the 
parlor-maid,  enters,  carrying  Rippingill' s 
breakfast,  the  principal  item  of  which  is  a  soli- 
tary egg. 

Bates. 
[To  Rippingill,  who  has  seated  himself  upon  the  settee 
on  the  lefi.~\    Your  breakfast,  sir. 

109 


110  l     WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

|  Feebly.  ]    Thank  you,  Bates. 

Foley. 

[  To    Bates,  after  she  has  set  the  tray  upon  the  oval 
table."]    Give  me  a  hand,  01;   l. 

[The  servants,  eyeing-  RlPPINGILL  inquisitively, 
collect  the  tilings  scattered  about  the  room. 
Foley,  finding  himself  overburdened,  attempts 
to  add  the  suit  of  pajamas  to  Bates's  lighter 

load. 

Bates. 

You  forget  yourself,  Mr.  Foley. 

[They   withdraw.      Upon   opening   the   hall-door, 
they  encounter  Webbmarsh  and  Christabel. 
The  Webbmarshes  enter  as  the  servants  de- 
part. 

The  Webbmarshes. 
\_To  Rippingill,  sternly. ~\    Good-morning. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Good-morning. 

Webbmarsh. 

May  we  ask  how  you  have  slept  ? 

Christabel. 
We  hope,  fairly. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Slept  !    {Looking  up  at  the  doll.']    That  doll  has  been 
dancing,  almost  without  a  pause,  the  whole  night  through. 

Christabel. 
[Piously.]    Retribution  ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  111 

RiPPINGILL. 

I  dozed  at  intervals,  but  only  to  dream  of  her — and 
young  Trood.      1 — I  could  declare  it's  jumping  now  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

Xo,  no,  no  !  it's  quite  motionless.  [Pointing  to  the 
breakfast-tray '.]    I  advise  you  to  eat  your  egg. 

Christabel. 

[Advancing^]  Why  don't  you  cut  the  disgraceful  thing 
down,  Mr.  Rippingill,  in  a  gentlemanlike  spirit? 

RiPPINGILL. 

[Rising.]  Because,  madam,  I  am  accused  by  your 
husband  and  yourself  of  having  committed  a  gross  breach 
of  taste  in  hanging  it  there. 

Christabel. 
Can  there  be  two  opinions  on  the  subject  ? 

Webbmarsh. 
[Sitting  on  the  settee  on  the  right.~\    You  would  defend 
your  outrageous  prank,  Rippingill  ? 

Rippingill. 
With  my  last  breath.  The  act  was  more  appropriate, 
perhaps,  to  a  sportive  lad  than  to  one  whose  bark  is 
tossing  heavily  in  the  rolling  forties  ;  but  I  am  incapable 
of  transgressing  the  rules  of  good  breeding.  [Christa- 
BEL  offers  him  a  knife  from  the  breakfast- tray '.]  No,  that 
would  be  tantamount  to  confessing  to  a  modicum  of 
justice  in  the  charge.  Let  other  hands  remove  it.  [Sit- 
ting in  the  armchair.]    How  is  my — how  is  Avis  ? 

Christabel. 
Radiant. 

Rippingill. 

Her  face  retains  that  dreadful  smile  ? 


112  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Christabel. 
Dreadful  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

I  make  no  pretense  to  originality  of  thought  or  expres- 
sion when  I  remark  that  a  woman's  smiles  are  nature's 
jewels. 

[Christabel   shows  her  teeth   at  Webbmarsh 
■winningly. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Avis  has  a  rich  collection  of  gems,  then.  [Miserably  ^\ 
Are  any  steps  decided  upon,  do  you  know  ? 

Christabel. 

[To  Webbmarsh.]    Haynes,  will  you  speak  first? 

Webbmarsh. 
[Clearing  his  throat.']    Ahem!     Certainly. 

Christabel. 
[Coming  to  Rippingill.]    In  the  meantime  your  egg  is 
getting  cold. 

Rippingill. 
[Rising.]    Dash  my  egg  ! 

Christabel. 
[Wincing.]    Ssss  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

[Rising.]  Rippingill,  my  wife  is  unaccustomed  to  out- 
breaks of  this  kind. 

Rippingill. 
I  beg  your  pardon.    [Seating  himself  at  the  oval  table 
and  pouring  out  his  tea.]    Well  ? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  113 

Webbmarsh. 

[Advancing  to  Rippingill.]     The  matter  was  thor- 
oughly threshed  out  over  the  dinner-table  last  night. 

Christabel. 
And  again  this  morning,  at  breakfast. 

Webbmarsh. 

Christabel [She  sits  on  the  settee  on  the  right.']    A 

letter — to  the  framing  of  which  I  have  lent  the  assistance  of 
a  practiced  pen — will  accompany  the  communication  you 
have  already  addressed  to  Miss  Philpott.  Pending  the 
arrival  of  that  lady  from  Bath,  it  is  proposed  that  your 
existing  domestic  arrangements  be  strictly  adhered  to. 

Rippingill. 
Existing  arrangements ? 

Webbmarsh. 

You   continue   to  enjoy  the  sole  and  exclusive  occu- 
pancy of  this  boat-house 


Christabel. 
While  she  remains  at  the  villa. 


My  darling 


Webbmarsh. 
Christabel. 


Forgive  me,  dear. 


Webbmarsh. 
While  she  remains,  unmolested,  in  the  more  commo- 
dious building. 

Christabel. 
In  my  charge. 


114  .4    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Webbmarsh. 
Under  the  chaperonage  of  my  wife.     You  assent? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Rising,  tea-cup  and  saucer  in  hand.~\  Oh,  if  propriety 
demands  such  a  course 

Webbmarsh. 

If! 

CHRISTABEL. 

[  Wincing  again.~\    Ssss  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Meekly,  after  sipping  his  tea.~\  This  place  grows  ex- 
cessively chilly  at  dawn.  I  presume  I  may  be  allowed 
an  extra  blanket  ? 

Webbmarsh. 
I  think  we  may  take  so  much  upon  ourselves,  Chris- 
tabel  ? 

Christabel. 
I  feel  sure  she  would  desire  it. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Falteringly.~\  I — I  should  like  to  be  satisfied  upon  one 
point.      Is — is  Avis  still  obdurate ? 

Webbmarsh. 

Obdurate  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

On  the  question  of  our  ultimate  remarriage? 

Webbmarsh. 

[To  Christabel.]    Christabel 

[Webbmarsh  makes  way  for  Christabel,  who 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  113 

advances  to  Rippingill.  She  produces  her 
pocket-handkerchief- — a  ring  is  knotted  to  one 
of  Us  corners. 

Christabel. 

Mr.  Rippingill,  1  have  received  instructions  from  my 
dear  friend,  Miss  Meiklejohn,  to  restore  you  this. 

Rippingill. 

Meiklejohn  !     Avis' s  maiden  name  ! 
Christabel. 

[Putting  the  ring  into  his  hand.']  With  Miss  Meikle- 
john's  regards  and  best  wishes  for  your  future. 

Rippingill. 

Her — her  wedding  ring 

[His  cup  shakes  so  violently  in  his  saucer  that  it  is 
in  danger  of  falling.  She  takes  both  cup  and 
saucer  from  him,  and  replaces  them  on  the 
breakfast-tray. 

Christabel. 

[As  she  does  so.~\    Permit  me. 

[Mrs.  Lovette  peeps  in  at  the  hall-door,  sees  Rip- 
pingill, and  enters  hastily. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Out  of  breath.]    Seymour 

Rippingill. 

Dora? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Shaking  liana's  with  him  sympathetically, .]  What  sort 
of  night  have  you  passed  ?  I  am  almost  afraid  to  in- 
quire. 

Rippingill. 
Horrible, 


116  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Ah,  you  are  in  no  fit  state  to  receive  a  fresh  shock. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Fresh ! 

Christabel. 
Something  has  happened ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

\ Apprehensively .]    Avis ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

She  wishes  to  see  you,  Seymour  ;  she  has  an  important 
announcement  to  make. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Announcement? 

The  Webbmarshes. 
Announcement? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

She — she  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Trood. 

[Rippingill  sinks  on  to  the  settee  on  the  right. 

Christabel. 
\_Rapturously.~\    Haynes! 

Webbmarsh. 

[To  Christabel.]  My  darling,  this  romance  grows 
hourly. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Sitting  in  the  armchair.']  I  left  them  at  the  breakfast- 
table  for  barely  a  moment,  and  when  I  returned  it  was 
all  over. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  117 

Chiustabel. 
[Silting  on  the  settee  on   the  left.']    What   a  delightful 
young  fellow  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

\_To  Chiustabel.]  I  don't  think  I  have  told  you, 
Christabel,  that  he  has  read  my  Influence  of  the  Russian 
Novelists,  and  Other  Essays. 

Christabel. 
I  am  not  surprised. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Tartly.]   Well,  you  can't  get  off  with  that  for  a  wed- 
ding present,  at  any  rate. 

Rippingill. 

\_Dully,  staring  at  the  floor,  and  slowly  rubbing  his 
knees.']  Nobody  mentioned  that  Trood  had  been  break- 
fasting up  at  the  house. 

Webbmarsh. 
He  arrived  during  breakfast. 

Christabel. 

We  had  our  work  cut  out  to  persuade  him  to  peel  a 
peach. 

Webbmarsh. 
He    has   a   rare    independence    of    character — young 
Trood. 

Rippingill. 

The  viper !  the  snake  in  the  grass !  The  double- 
faced  ! 

Christabel. 
Oh  !  cruelly  unjust ! 


11-  .1     WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Webbmarsh. 

I  fancy,  Rippingill,  that  if  you  could  be  induced  to  eat 
your  egg  you  would  form  a  more  equitable  estimate  of 
Mr.  T rood's  conduct. 

CHRISTABEL. 

And  of yotir  conduct  also,  Mr.  Rippingill. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Rising  and  reseating  herself  beside  RIPPINGILL.]  It 
appears,  Seymour,  thai  this  young  man  and  woman 
have  unconsciously  been  in  love  with  one  another  for 
over  a  year. 

Webbmarsh. 

[Sitting  in  the  armchair.']  Each  unsuspicious  of  the 
other's  feelings;  each  equally  oblivious  to  his  own — of 
her  own — his  and  her  own — their  own.- — [Producing  a 
note-book  and  turning  its  pages .]  1  wrote  a  brief  descrip- 
tion last  night  of  their  curious  mutuality  of  sentiment,  the 
phraseology  of  which  is  slightly  less  involved. 

Christabel. 

Yes,  and  their  hearts'  secret  would  have  remained  un- 
spoken, unguessed,  but  for  the  sudden  disclosure  of  yes- 
terday. [Rising  ecstatically.]  That  it  was  which  released 
the  torrent  ;  and  the  pent-up  waters,  bursting  down  in 
their  mad  career  every  barrier  of  conventionality  and 
circumspection,  drew  these  young  people  together  in  a 
headlong,  eager,  lingering  embrace.  Oh,  it's  fine!  it's 
purple  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

[Taking  out  his  -pocket-pen.]  Christabel,  will  you  favor 
me  by  repeating  your-  eloquent  tirade  ? 

[She   stands  over  him  while  he  writes,  dictating 
sentence  after  sentence. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  119 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[To  Rippingill.J    Ah,  dear  Seymour,  one  recalls  now 
wiili  painful  distinctness  Mr.  Trood's  account  of  the  life 
at  the  boarding-house  in  Westbourne  Terrace. 

RlPPINGILL. 

{Gradually     recovering     his     ideas.']      Mother     Cul- 
ross's 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The  second-floor  landing 

RlPPINGILL. 

Every  evening  before  dinner. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The  light  entering  at  the  colored  window 


RlPPINGILL. 

Avis  of  the  Shimmering  Hair  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Yes,  the  luxuriant  coil  at  the  back 


RlPPINGILL. 

[Laughing strangely.']    Ha,  ha,  ha! 

[He  rises  and  paces  the  room,  a  vindictive  gleam  in 
his  eye. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Following  him.]    Ah,   thank   heaven,    your  sense   of 
humor  is  beginning  to  reassert  itself.     [Encouraein<?lv.] 
Ha,  ha,  ha!  L  &    * J  J 

RlPPINGILL. 

[On  the  left.]    Ha,  ha,  ha  !      Ho,  ho,  ho  ! 


120  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Webbmarsh. 

[Annoyed.  ]    Tut,  tut  ! 

[  To  escape  interrupting,  he  transfers  himself  to 
the  settee  on  the  right.  Christabel  joins  him 
and,  with  impassioned  gestures,  continues  an  - 


tat  ing. 


RiPPINGILL. 


[Facing  Mrs.  Lovette.]  Dora,  1  understand  you  lo 
say  that  Avis  is  anxious  to  meet  me? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Yes — yes. 

RlPPINGILL. 

I  am  prepared  to  receive  her  here. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I'll  tell  her. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Or  I  will  wait  upon  her,  by  appointment,  at  the  house. 
[Grimly  facetious.~\  Ha,  ha !  Is  she  At  Home  this 
afternoon  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Laying  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders.]  Ha,  ha  !  Bless 
the  man,  he  is  in  the  old,  happy  vein  again  ! 

[She  runs  out  into  the  garden  and  disappears. 

Webbmarsh. 

[Glancing  at  the  retreating figure, .]  A  terribly  distract- 
ing person.     [To  Rippingill.]    Rippingill 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Mu tiering.']  Avis  of  the  Shimmering  Hair!  Avis  of 
the  Shimmering [To  Webbmarsh.]    Eh? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  121 

Webbmarsh. 

[Rising,  tapping  his  note-book.~\  I  want  you,  when  you 
have  a  minute  or  two  to  spare,  to  enable  me  to  till  in  a  tew 
lacuna  in  these  notes  of  mine. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Notes  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

Notes  concerning  your  unfortunate  association  with  the 
charming  young  lady  to  whom  I  have  been  privileged  to 
be  of  some  small  service. 

RlPPINGILL. 

And,  pray,  with  what  object ? 


Webbmarsh. 

\_Raising  a  hand.~\  Sssh,  sssh,  sssh  !  don't  be  hasty, 
Rippingill.  The  details,  necessary  as  they  are  for  my 
purpose,  will  be  obscured  by  artistic  treatment.  It  is 
possible  that  your  connection  with  the  finished  product 
will  escape  recognition  outside  a  limited  circle. 

Rippingill. 
The  finished  product ! 

Christabel. 

{Seated  upon  the  settee  on  the  right,  opening  her  eyes 
widely.~\    Haynes  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

[Turning  to  her  with  a  smile."]  No  wonder  you  com- 
plained of  my  restlessness  last  night,  dearest.  [Earnestly.] 
Christabel,  it  has  long  been  my  ambition  to  add  to  the 
store  of  the  world's  creative  literature. 

Christabel. 
[Rising ;  her  hands  clasped  in  admiration.]    Oh  ! 


V22  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

What ! 

Christabel. 

[To  Webbmarsh.]  You  are  inspired  by  the  startling 
events  which  have  taken  place  here  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

I  am.  [Rippingill  walks  away  wrathfully.  Webb- 
marsh seals  himself  upon  l/ie  settee  on  the  left.']  I  am  con- 
vinced that  the  history  of  Rippingill's  unprosperous  con- 
jugal adventures  furnishes  a  motive  so  unique,  so  power- 
ful, so  prolific,  that  the  intelligent  public  cannot  fail  to 
leap  to  it. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Returning.']  Webbmarsh,  this  is  an  indelicate  in- 
trusion on  my  private  affairs. 

Webbmarsh. 

You  have  ceased  to  have  any  private  affairs,  Rippingill. 
You  have  become  simply  a  human  document. 

Rippingill. 

\_On  the  right.]    Human  document ! 

Christabel. 

[  To  Webbmarsh,  standing  over  him']  You  are  right. 
Yes,  what  a  novel  it  will  make  ! 

Rippingill. 

Mrs.  Webbmarsh 

Webbmarsh. 

[Constrainedly.']    A  novel  ? 

Christabel. 
[Closing  her  eyes.]    I  picture  the  design  on  the  binding. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  123 

RlPPINGILL. 

Do  you  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

Ahem  !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  my  present  inclinations 
tend  rather  towards  the  drama. 

Chkistabel. 
[Dubiously.]   The  drama  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Hotly.']   The  drama  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

[To  Christabel.]  Surely  you  will  not  deny,  Christa- 
bel,  that  the  drama  stands  desperately  in  need  of  reha- 
bilitation ? 

Christabel. 
Deny  it !     Nobody  ever  denies  that.     But 

RlPPINGILL. 

Now,  look  here,  Webbmarsh  !  [Sitting  in  the  arm- 
chair.]  Whether  or  not  the  drama  needs  rehabilitating, 
1  strongly  protest  against  its  being  rehabilitated  at  my 
expense. 

Webbmarsh. 
How  typically  English  !    [Rising-  and  moving  towards 
Rippingill.]     Here,   then,  we    have   a   theme  glowing 
with  igneous  vitality. 

Rippingill. 
I  go  further  

Webbmarsh. 

Supplied,  too,  by  a  section  of  middle-class  society 
normally  shallow  and  soulless  ! 


124  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

RIPPINGILL. 

[With  increasing  indignation.']    Shallow  and  soulless! 

Christabel. 

[Sitting  upon  the  settee  on  the  left.']     I  have  no  wish  to 
discourage  >ou,  Haynes.     My  only  misgiving. 

Webbmarsh. 
1  fathom  your  thoughts,  Christabel.  Oh,  but  this  is 
not  a  task  for  one  of  those  fellows  who  have  the  tricks  of 
their  trade  at  their  finger-tips.  [Walking  about  between 
Christabel  and  Rippingill.]  This  is  for  a  writer,  im- 
petuous, ignorant,  who  can  hurl,  as  it  were,  chunks  of 
raw,  bleeding  humanity  upon  the  boards. 

Rippingill. 
Webbmarsh,  I  may  be- — I  am — decidedly  raw 


Christabel. 
[Catching  Webbmarsh' s  enthusiasm.']   Ah,  what  a  de- 
nouement for  your  play  !     What  an  end  ! 

Webbmarsh. 
[Pausing.]     I  doubt  if  it  should  have  an  end,  dearest. 
It  should,' as  I  conceive  it,  belong  to  that  order  of  dra- 
matic production  which   is   all    beginning — and   middle. 
[With fervor.]    But  no  end — no  end  ! 

Rippingill. 
[Sneeringly .]    Hah  !  endless  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

Endless  ?  [Peevishly.]  No,  no  ;  the  custom  of  late  din- 
ing and  early  supping  restricts  you  to  the  hours  of  nine 
till  eleven. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  125 

Christabel. 

[Seeing  Avis.]    Ah ! 

[Avis  enters  from  tlie  garden,  bright-eyed  and 
rosy,  and  as  gay  as  a  lark.  She  is  followed  by 
Trood,  who  carries  a  brown-paper  parcel. 
Rippingill  moves  over  to  the  left  as  Chris- 
TABEL  rushes  at  the  young  couple  effusively. 

Christabel. 

[Kissing  Avis.]  Oh,  you  naughty-waughty  duckiest 
of  ducklings!  To  go  and  get  engaged  behind  your 
Christy-wisty's  back ! 

Avis. 
[Lightly.']    Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Christabel. 
[Giving  Trood  her  hand  warmly.']    Monster!   I  ought 
to  hate  you  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

[Shaking  hands  with  Avis.]  Miss  Meiklejohn,  I  hope 
that  future  joys  are  to  atone  amply  for  the  sorrows  of  the 
past.  [Shaking  hands  with  Trood.]  Mr.  Trood,  may 
one  fortunate  man  shake  hands  with  another? 

Avis. 
[Approaching  Rippingill.]    Er— Seymour 

Rippingill. 
[Facing  her,  with  forced  composure.]    Avis? 

Avis. 

Mrs.  Lovette  has  explained?    Vivian [Bringing 

Trood  forward  and  presenting  him  to  Rippingill.]     My 
fiance. 

Rippingill. 
[Scowling  at  Trood.  |    Nice  morning. 


126  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Trood. 

[Scowling at  Rippingill.]  Veiy.  [Advancing  to  RIP- 
PINGILL, haughtily.]  I  am  indebted  10  you  for  the  loan, 
made  through  your  servant  yesterday,  of  certain  articles 
of  clothing. 

Avis. 
[  To  RIPPINGILL.]    After  the  shower,  you  remember. 

Trood. 

[Handing  Rippingill  the  brown-paper  parcel '.]  In  the 
altered  circumstances,  my  spirit  oi  independence  obliges 
me  to  return  them  without  flelay. 

Christabel. 
[With  Webbmarsh  at  the  door  on  the  left.]    Noble  ! 

Webbmarsh. 
Quite,  epiite. 

Rippingill. 
[After  laying  the  parcel  aside  upon  the  oval  table — to 
Trood.]    You — ah — you  keep  the  shoes? 

Trood. 
Shoes  ? 

Rippingill. 
My  shoes.    [Pointing  to  Avis.]    You  are  standing  in 
them. 

Trood. 
[  Walking  away."]    Ho  !  a  joke  ! 

Avis. 
[Sitting  upon  the  settee  on  the  rig.it.']    Ha,  ha  ! 

Christabel. 
[To  Webbmarsh.]    Exceedingly  ill-timed. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  127 

Webbmarsh. 
.Atrocious ! 

[The  Webbmarshes  withdraw  reluctantly. 

Avis. 
[To  Rippingill.]  You  may  crack  as  many  of  your 
little  jokes  now  as  you  choose,  Seymour  ;  I  don't  care. 
I  consider  it  so  proper  of  you  not  to  rave  and  go  on  un- 
reasonably :  but,  oh — I'll  be  absolutely  candid  with  you 
— the  tortures  I  have  endured  these  last  two  months  ! 

Rippingill. 

[Approaching  her.']   Tortures ! 

Avis. 

[Looking  up  at  the  ceiling.]    What  did  you  use,  to  bore 
that  hole  in  the  ceiling  ? 

Rippingill. 
A  gimlet. 

Avis. 
You  goose,  you  could  have  done  it  with  one  of  your 
funny  stories. 

Rippingill. 
[Blankly.]    With  one  of  my ! 

Avis. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Rippingill. 

Do    drop    that    maddening     smile  !     You — you — you 
mean  to  convey  that  you  have  been  bored,  Avis  ? 

Avis. 
To    death.    [He    sinks    into    the    armchairT]    Whew! 
[Closing  her  eyes.]    How  often  have  I  wished  myself  back 
in  that  dear,  mouldy  old  Westbourne  Terrace  ! 


128  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

You  were    dull    enough    there,  in  all  conscience,  you 
ungrateful  woman. 

Trood. 

[Advancing — warningly .]    Rippingill 

Avxs. 
In  a  way,  1   was  ;  in  the  way  that  a  girl  may  be  dull 
without   tumbling   to   it.      But  since — when   1   found   out 
what  Aunt  Amy  had  done  in  saddling  me  on  to  a — to  a 
gentleman  with  a  sense  of  humor ! 

Rippingill. 

Aunt  Amy  !     Did  she / 

Avis. 
Why,  of  course  she  did  it. 

Rippingill. 
[His  eyes  bolting^    By  Jove,  so  she  did  ! 

Avis. 
What  do  you  think  !    [Rising  and  joining  Trood  on 
the  /eft.']    Vivian  has  been  fearfully  depressed,  too.     Oh, 
we've  both  had  a  terrible  experience  ! 

Rippingill. 
And   for  how  long   has  this  inexcusable  reciprocity  of 
feeling  been  existing  between  you  ? 

Avis. 
We  can't  be  positive.     We  suppose  it  began  to  grow 
imperceptibly  at  the  very  earliest  stage  of  our  acquaint- 
ance. 

Trood. 
[Approaching   Rippingill.]    On    turning    the    matter 
over  in  my  mind  while  shaving  this  morning,  I  came  to 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  129 

the  conclusion  that  the  origin  of  my  attachment  to  this 
lady  is  clearly  traceable  to  our  habit  of  meeting  upon  the 
stairs  at  Mother  Culross's. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ah,  before  dinner. 

Trood. 

And  occasionally  later. 

Avis. 
[Sitting  on  the  settee  on  the  left.']    There  was  plenty  of 
gas-light  on  the  second-floor  landing. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Maliciously.]  That  also,  I  assume,  cast  a  flickering 
gleam  upon  the  seated  figure  of  Miss  Meiklejohn? 

Trood. 
Exactly. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Ha,  ha!     Avis  of  the  Shimmering  Hair! 

Trood. 

[Gazing,  mournfully,  at  Avis' s  head.]  Its  tone  was 
wonderful  in  those  far-off  days. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Rising,  a  strange  expression  in  his  face.]  Well,  my 
dear  sir,  I  assure  you  you  need  have  no  apprehension  of 
permanent  deterioration. 

Trood. 
Permanent ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

The  new  tail  is  several  shades  more  golden  than  the 
one  she  is  wearing  this  morning. 


130  .1     WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Tkood. 

The  new ! 

Avis. 
Seymour ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

The  tail  which  came  home  from  Marcel's  last  week. 

Avis. 
[Rising.]    Oh! 

RlPPINGILL. 

['To  Trood.]    You  must  ask  her  to  grace  the  dinner- 
table  with  it  to-night. 

Trood. 

Avis!    [She  is  guiltily  silent.']    Avis!   [To  Rippingill.] 
Coward!    [Walking  away  to  ike  right.]    Poltroon! 

Avis. 
[  To  Rippingill.]    You  spiteful  little  toad  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Unnaturally  calm.]    You  have  impelled  me  to  this. 

Avis. 
Wasp !     Caterpillar ! 

Rippingill. 

The  good  that  was  in  me  has  been  stifled  ;  there  is  no 
enormity  I  could  not  commit. 

Avis. 
[Going to  Trood.]    Vivian 


[Foley  appears,  entering  from  the  garden. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  131 

Foley. 
\_To  Rippingill.]    I    beg  your  pardon,  sir — Mr.    Pul- 
linger. 

Rippingill. 
Where  ? 

Foley. 
Driving  his  motor-car  up  and  down  the  road,  sir. 

Rippingill. 

Up  and  down ! 

Foley. 
[At  the  oval  table, .]    Yes,  sir— over  obstacles. 

Rippingill. 
Obstacles! 

Foley. 
I've  been  laying  down  some  nails  and  bottles  for  him, 
sir.    [Taking  tip   the   breakfast- tray.']    He  wants    you  to 
come  outside  and  see  some  ingstrordinary  unpuncturable 
tires  he's  running  with. 

Rippingill. 
Gurrh!    [Furiously'.']    Tell    Mr.   Pullinger    I'll    see   his 
tires 


[A  startlingly  loud  double  report  is  heard.  Avis 
clings  to  Trood,  and  Foley  lets  the  tray  fall 
upon  the  table. 

Foley. 
[After  a  pause,  quietly.]    Bust! 

Rippingill. 

[  With  the  utmost  satisfaction.]    Ah ! 

{With  head  erect,  and  hands  under  his  coat-tails, 
he  walks  slowly  out  into  the  garden  and  disap- 
pears on  the  right. 


132  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    S3IILE 

Foley. 
[Taking  up  the  tray  again.']    Phillips  lent  me  some  nice 
little  nasty  French  tacks,  ma'am. 

Avis. 
[Sitting  in  the  armchair,  sulkily.]    Foley 

Foley. 

[Halting  with  the  tray,  in  the  archway '.]    Ma'am  ? 

Avis. 
The  landau  at  half-past  ten,  to  go  to  Cookham  church. 

Foley. 

Cert'nly,  ma'am. 

[Foley  withdraws.     Trood,  with  a  heavy  brow, 
walks  across  to  the  left  and  sits  on  the  settee. 

[After  a  short  silence.']    Vivian 

Trood. 
Oh,  it's   of  no    consequence.     Another  illusion  shat- 
tered ;  that's  all. 

Avis. 

The  sneak  !     Those  who  dwell  in  glass  houses ! 

I've  seen  his  dentist's  bill. 

Trood. 

It's  a  lack  of  frankness  on  a  girl's  part  that  hurts  a 
man.  You  know  how  the  fellows  at  Culross's  admired 
you  [passing  his  hand  over  the  back  of  his  head]  on  ac- 
count of — on  account  of 

Avis. 
[Shrugging  her  shoulders.]    I've  forgotten. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  l.°,3 

Trood. 
Why,  you    sat   to    me  and  young  Claude  Harker  for 
that  alone. 

Avis. 

Very  probably. 

Trood. 
[Bitterly.]    You  needn't  have  sat  at  all ;  you  might  just 
as  well  have  sent  it  round  to  the  studio. 

Avis. 
[}Vhimpering.~\   Oh!  oh!  oh!    [Trood  rises  and  ap- 
proaches her.  '  She  transfers  herself  angrily  to  the  settee  on 
the  right.']    No,  thanks.     I'm  not  to  be  bullied  one  min- 
ute and  fondled  the  next. 

Trood. 

Oh,  as  you  please.  [Sitting  in  the  armchair,  staring  at 
the  carpet.]  At  any  rate,  this  explanation  will  have 
cleared  the  air. 

Avis. 
[Sarcastically.]   The  shimmering  'air! 

Trood. 

[Regarding  her  with  mingled  surprise  and  reproach^] 
Hah!  "  As  the  husband  is,"the  wife  is  ;  thou  art  mated 
— or  were  recently — with  a  clown.  And  the  grossness  of 
his  nature — evidently — has  had  weight  to  drag  thee 
down." 

Avis. 
[Softening — in  a  low  voice.]    Rats  ! 

Trood. 
Avis! 


131  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Avis. 

[Penitently.]  Look  here!  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I'll  make  a  present  of  it  all  to  my  maid — Rhodes.  Her 
hair  is  nearly  the  color  of  mine.  And  then,  when  we 
are  married,  if  ever  you  have  to  paint  a  head  that  shim- 
mers, there  she  will  be 

Trood. 

[Startled.']   My  dear  girl ! 

Avis. 
Eh? 

Trood. 
A  maid — when  we're  married ! 

Avis. 
[Her jaw  falling.'}   Oh,  no,  I — I  suppose  not. 

Trood. 
You — er — you  had  no  maid  in  Westbourne  Terrace. 

Avis. 
No,  anybody  that  came  along  used  to  lace  me  up  in 
Westbourne  Terrace. 

Trood. 
[Rhino  and  reseating  himself  by  her  side.']    Dearest, 
why  should  we  not  endeavor  to  lead  that  blissful,  dream- 
ful, memorable  time  over  again  ? 

Avis. 
[Pouting.]    Oh,  I  dare  say  I  could  manage  to  go  back 
to  the  old,  rotten,  hugger-mugger  style  of  existence  if  I 
tried. 

Trood. 
Really,  if  that's  your  view ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  \?,b 

Avis. 

Sssh  !  don't  get  wild.  [Nestling  up  to  kirn. ~]  I  realize, 
Vivian,  that  in  the  early  days  of  our  married  life  ours 
must  be  quite  a  humble  menagerie. 

Trood. 

{Correcting  her.~\    Menage. 

Avis. 

[Her  head  upon  his  shoulder.]  Menage,  do  you  call 
it  ?  [Sighing.]  Still — ah  ! — Rhodes  is  only  a  thirty- 
pounder  

Trood. 

Only  a  thirty-pounder !  [Starting  up.]  Avis,  are  you 
aware — have  you  the  faintest  notion — of  the  condition  of 
Art  in  this  country  ? 

Avis. 
[  With  a  nod.~]    It's  a  bit  off. 

Trood. 
Precisely.     Of  course,  there   is   always  the   chance  of 
my  disposing   of  one   of  my  pictures   under  the  terms  of 
the   Chantrey   Bequest.      But   till    then * 

[Trood.  Precisely.  As  to  my  ultimately  achieving 
fame  and  fortune,  I  have,  happily,  no  misgivings — none 
whatever.      But  till  then ] 

Avis. 
[Making  a  wry  face.']    Till  then — economy. 

Trood. 

The  strictest  economy.    __»__» 

*  In  places  such  as  Northern  Nigeria  and  the  Leeward  Islands,  and  in  any 
country  where  an  allusion  to  the  Chantrey  Bequest  might  prove  mystifying, 
this  speech  should  be  omitted  and  the  words  between  brackets  spoken  in  its 
stead 


136  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Avis. 
[Dryly.~\    Yes.     Ha,  ha!     My  stars,  I've  been  there. 
[WEBBMARSH    and    CHRISTABEL    reenter   at   the 
door  on  the  left,  breathlessly,  as  if  they  have 
been  running. 

WEBBMARSH. 

Where  is  he  ? 

Avis. 
[Rising.]    He  ? 

Christabel. 

Mr.  Rippingill. 

WEBBMARSH. 

We  heard  the  report  of  a  firearm. 

Avis. 
No,  that  was  a  tire  of  Mr.  Pullinger's  motor-car. 

Christabel. 
A  tire ? 

WEBBMARSH. 

A  tire  merely  ! 

Christabel. 
We  feared  the  unhappy  man  had  expiated  his  faults  by 
a  bullet. 

WEBBMARSH. 

[Sitting  in  the  chair  by  the  piano.']    It  seems  we  need 
not  have  hurried,  Christabel. 

Avis. 
[Going  to  Christabel — in  a  whisper.']    What  do  you 
think?     Seymour  has  given  my  back-hair  away. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  137 

Christabel. 
Never ! 

Avis. 
Gospel. 

Christabel. 
Brute  !     [Securing  her  own  hair.'}     Is  nothing  sacred? 

Webbmarsh. 

[Rising,  and  coming  to  Avis,  thoughtfully.']  In  one  of 
Ibsen's  plays  there  is  the  sound  of  a  pistol-shot. 

Avis. 
But  there  has  been  no  pistol-shot. 

Webbmarsh. 

No,  no  ;   I  thoroughly  understand. 

[Pullinger  enters,  from  the  garden,  followed  by 
Mrs.  Lovette  and  Rippingill.  Pullinger 
is  wearing  an  elaborate  motor-costume. 

Pullinger. 

[Advancing  to  Avis,  hotly.]  Good-morning,  madam. 
[71?  Webbmarsh.]  Good-morning,  Mr.  Webster.  \_Tc 
Christabel.]    Good-morning. 

Webbmarsh. 

[To  Christabel,  joining  her  behind  the  oval-table — 
annoyed.]    Webster ! 

Christabel. 
[To  Webbmarsh.]    Illiterate  fellow  ! 

Pullinger. 

[Frowning  at  Trood,  who  is  behind  the  smaller  table.] 
Pish  ! 


138  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Trood. 

Sir! 

PULLINGER. 

[  To  Avis.]    My  good  lady,  you  will  excuse  me  foi  say- 
ing  that    1    am   indignant — profoundly   indignant — at  the 
treatment  which  is  being  meted  out  to  my  old  friend  Rip 
pingill. 

Avis. 
Indeed  ? 

PULLINGER. 

I  pronounce  it — \to  Rippingill]  I  have  administered 
the  same  rebuke,  Rip,  on  many  occasions  in  dealing  with 
our  shareholders- — [to  Avis]  I  pronounce  it  to  be  neither 
more  nor  less  than  abominable. 

Avis. 

[To  Pullinger.]  M'yes,  you  are  at  the  head  of  a  large 
—  business,  aren't  you  ? 

Pullinger. 
I  am. 

Avis. 
[Sweetly  ^\    As  a  rule,  do  you  find  any  very  great  diffi- 
culty in  minding  it?  , 

Webbmarsh. 
Ha,  ha! 

Christabel. 
What  a  refreshing  sense  of  humor! 

Rippingill. 

[Advancing — •weakly.']    Ha,   ha,   ha!      I  am  bound  to 

admit,  Jack — lie,  he,  he  !  —  I  beg  your  pardon 

[Pullinger,  stroking  ///'<;  moustache,   turns  away 
and  joins  Mrs.  Lovette  in  the  bay-window. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  139 

Avis. 

[Vivaciously. ~]  Ha,  ha,  ha!  [Calling  to  Mrs.  Lov- 
ETTE.]  Mrs.  Lovette,  some  of  us  are  going  to  Cookhani 
church.     The  carriage  is  ordered  for  half-past  ten. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Sternly.]    No,  thank  you,  Miss  Meiklejohn. 

Avis. 
[Counting.']       Mr.       Trood— Mrs.      Webbmarsh— me. 
There's    room   for   another.       [To   Webbmarsh.]     You 
won't ? 

Webbmarsh. 
Why  not?     I   have  never  regarded   church  going  as 
incompatible  with  the  Higher  Bohemianism. 

Avis. 
How  jolly  !     Shall  we  get  ready  ?    [The  Webbmarshes 
move  to  the  hall-door.     Avis  finds  herself  face  to  face  with 
Rippingill.]    Oh  !     [Distantly.]    I   am   short  of  silver. 
Have  you  any  ? 

Rippingill. 
[Surprised.]    Silver? 

Avis. 
For  my  thanks-offering.  [After  a  little  consideration  he 
selects  a  small  coin  from  a  handful  of  money  and  puts  it 
into  her  extended  palm.  She  views  the  coin  with  scorn.] 
You  haven't  such  a  thing  as  a  microscope  about  you, 
have  you  ? 

Rippingill. 

[Sadly.]  A  week  ago  it  would  have  been,  at  least,  half- 
a-crown. 


140  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Avis. 

Stingy  !    [To  those  at  the  window."]   Tra,  la,  la  ! 

[She  joins  the  Webbmarshes,  and  Trood,  and 
they  all  take  their  departure. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Advancing.]  Ha  !  This  is  her  real  nature  come  to 
the  surface.  Under  the  skin  the  creature  issimply  a  pert, 
brazen  hussy. 

* 

PULL1NGER. 

\_Atso  leaving  the  window,  having  divested  himself  of 
his  motor-costume, .]  No  doubt  of  it.  Like  thousands  of 
investors  before  him,  Rippingill  was  misled  by  the  pro- 
spectus. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Prospectus  ? 

PULLINGER. 
By  a  pretty,  pearly  complexion. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
And  a  thin  veneer  of  boarding-house  gentility. 

PULLINGER. 

[Hobbling  about  the  room.']  1  repeat,  I  am  boiling  with 
indignation. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Going  to  Rippingill,  who  ts  sitting  on  the  settee  on  the 
right,  and  is  staring  into  vacancy  with  watery  eyes.]    Still, 
it  might  be  worse.     You  are  rid  of  her,  Seymour. 

PULLINGER. 

That  painting  puppy — Trood  ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  141 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Sealing  herself  beside  Rippingill.]  You  must  force 
yourself  to  look  upon  it  in  that  light. 

PULLINGER. 

These  Websters — Weblings ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Putting  an  arm  round  Rippingill' s  shoulder.]  And 
you  must  forget  how  your  poor  nose  has  been  rubbed, 
metaphorically,  in  the  gravel. 

PULLINGER. 

To  think  that  such  people  encumber  the  earth,  walk, 
talk,  sleep,  eat  the  firm's  biscuits ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[To  Rippingill.]  Come,  come!  Why,  when  I  left 
you,  to  go  back  to  the  house,  you  were  laughing  heartily. 

Rippingill. 
Oh,  Dora,  1  have  laughed  heartily  for  the  last  time. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Don't!  don't,  Seymour!  [He  snivels.]  That's  right; 
there's  nothing  like  a  good  cry. 

[PULLINGER'S  attention  is  arrested  by  the  altitude 
of  the  fair  towards  each  other,  and  he  stands 
watching  them  with  intense  interest. 

Rippingill. 
[Searching  his  fockets  for  a  handkerchief.]    Ah,  if  fif- 
teen years  ago,  when   I   first  knew  you,   Dora — sixteen, 
isn't  it ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Producing  her  pocket-handkerchief.]  There  or  there- 
abouts. 


142  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

RlPPINGILL. 

If  I  had  then  been  wiser,  less  d-d -diffident 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

\_Dabbing  her  eyes.]    Hasn't  Foley  put  a  handkerchief 
in  your  pocket  ? 

RlPPINGILL. 
[Helplessly.^    No,  the  neglectful  beast ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Giving    him    her    handkerchief^}      Dear,    dear    old 
friend 

Pullingek. 
[Suddenly .~\    Great  heavens  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette  and  Rippingill. 
Eh? 

PULLINGER. 

[Advancing.'}    Rip,  what  a  glorious  opportunity  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Opportunity ? 

PULLINGER. 

Of  revenging  yourself' 

RlPPINGILL. 

Revenging ! 

PULLINGER. 

Say  rather,  retaliating  in  kind.      If  Mrs.  Lovette  would 
but  lend  her  cooperation ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
L — I  don't 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  143 

PULLINGER. 

And  enable  you  to  reconstruct  your  company — er — 
your  household 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Rising  and  walking  away.~\  You  must  really  be  more 
explicit. 

PULLINGER. 

[To  Rippingill.]  If  you  could  show  'em  all  that  you 
can  transfer  your  allegiance  as  promptly  as  that  vulgar 
young  woman  has  done 

Rippingill. 
[Rising. ~\   Jack  ! 

PULLINGER. 

[Pointing  to  Mrs.  Lovette.]  Placing  this  amiable 
lady  in  a  position  of  wifely  authority  in  your  establish- 
ment   

Rippingill. 
Jack — oh,  Jack ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[On  the  left.~\    An  absurd  suggestion  ! 

PULLINGER. 

[To  her.~\  Absurd  !  Putting  other  considerations 
aside,  I  contend  that  a  friendship  of  fifty  years'  stand- 
ing   

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Sharply. ~\    Fifteen. 

PULLINGER. 

Fifteen — could  have  no  culmination  more  felicitous. 


144  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   S3IJLE 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Hoarsely. ~\    Revenge  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
■  [Seating  herself  upon  the  settee  on  the  left.']    Mr.  Pul- 
linger 

RlPPINGILL. 

Revenge ! 

Pullinger. 
Rip ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Crossing  rapidly  but  unsteadily  to  Mrs.  Lovette  and 
standing  before  her.]    Dora 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
I  won't  hear  of  it. 

RlPPINGILL. 
Listen.      I  cannot  bring  you,  I  do  not  profess  to  bring 
you,  the  love  of  a  callow,  inexperienced  youth.     On  the 
contrary,    I    am    a    man    who    has   passed   through   the 
furnace. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Contracting  her  brows.]    Two  furnaces. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Two,  if  you  will.  But  I  do  offer  you  the  devotion  of 
one  whose  deep  well  of  affection,  however  frequently  the 
— the— the 

PULLINGER. 

[Helpfully.]    Bucket 

RlPPINGILL. 

No,  no. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  145 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[To  PULLINGER.]    Pray,  be  silent. 

RlPPINGILL. 

However   frequently  it   has  been   drawn  upon,  is  far 
from  dry.     Dora- ■ 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Breathing  heavily. .]    This— this  is  as  a  blow  to  a  de- 
fenseless woman. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Speak,  Dora. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
To  say  that  I  am  dumbfoundered  would  be  to  give  too 
faint  an  idea  of  the  emotions  that  crowd  upon  me. 

RlPPINGILL. 

Speak. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Irritably.]     I  am  speaking.     What  else  am  I  doing? 
[Shielding  her  face  with  her  hand.']    Gentlemen,  that  you 
should  both  be  present — both  be  witnesses 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Walking  away  readily.']    I  will  leave  you. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Rising.]    No,  no;   not  you. 

[Rippingill  passes  quickly  through  the  hall  and 
vanishes  info  the  garden. 

PULLINGER. 

[Moving  towards  the  hall.]    Rip [To  Mrs.  Lov- 
ette.]   He's  gone. 


146  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
{Much  ruffled.']    I    was   about   to    tell    him  that  I  must 
have  time,  tune  to  weigh  everything  carefully 

1'ULLIXGER. 

[Returning  to  her— earnestly.]  Madam,  at  our  age  we 
have  no  time  to  spare. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
{Walking  away  to  the  window.]    Speak  for  yourself, 
Mr.  Pullinger. 

PULLINGER. 

I  do.  Last  night,  for  instance,  lying  awake  feverishly, 
disturbed  by  thoughts  of  Rippingill's  embarrassments, 
the  notion  occurred  to  me  of  constructing  an  air-pillow 
which  should  maintain  a  cool,  equable  temperature. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Peering  out  of  the  window  in  search  of  Rippingill.] 
A  highly  original  idea. 

Pullinger. 
The  Pullinger  Pillow,  a  Boon  for  the  Sleepless  !     And 
do  you  imagine,  my  good  lady,  that  I  intend  to  take  time 
over  it  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Leaving  the  window.]    You  will  excuse  me 

Pullinger. 

No,  even  while  I  have  been  talking  to  you  and  Rip, 
that  marvelous  double  consciousness  peculiar  to  the  hu- 
man brain  has  been  at  full  pressure. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Caustically 7]    Oh,  has  it? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    S3IILE  147 

PULLINGER. 
[Drumming  with  his  fingers  upon  his  forehead^]    There's 
no    avoiding    it,   Airs.    Lovette.     The    design   includes  a 
small  engine,  driven  by  gas  or  electric  power,  at  the  bed- 
side. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Sinking into  the  armchair.]    Lord  'a  mercy  !    [Rippin- 
GILL  reappears  suddenly,  entering  at  the  door  on  the  left.'] 
Seymour  ! 

Rippingill. 
[Confronting  Mrs.  Lovette— in  hollow  tones.]    Dora 
Lovette,  I  do  not  offer  you— you  can  never  hope  to  get 
from  me — the  love  of  an  unfledged  boy. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Rising  with  emotion.]    Seymour,  if  love  of  that  sort 
were  to  grow  at  my  feet  1  would  not  stoop  to  pluck  it. 

Rippingill. 
What  am  I  to  understand  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[Going  to  him  and  leaning  upon  his  arm.]    Ah ! 

[They  sit  together  upon  the  settee  on  the  left,  he  with  a 
troubled  air.]    Who  could  have  anticipated  this? 

Rippingill. 
No,  we  must  make  the  best  of  it. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The  best  of  it ! 

Rippingill. 
I  mean,  we  must  strive  to  make  each  other  happy, 
Dora. 


J 48  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Ah,  indeed  !  • 

PULLINGER. 

\_Absorbed,  looking  at  than  absently."]   There  is  only  one 
drawback  that  I  can  foresee. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Drawback  ? 

PULLINGER. 

Vibration. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Vibration ! 

PULLINGER. 

Perhaps  occasional  oscillation. 

Rippxngill. 
[Rising,  anxiously.']    Oh,  Jack,  why? 

PULLINGER. 

Which  would  be  fatal  to  the  chances  of  repose. 

Rippingill. 

\_Plncking  at  Pullinger's  sleeve.]     Jack,   you  alarm 
me 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Ah,   your  invention,    Mr.   Pullinger!     [Constrainedly.] 
Ha,  ha!    Mr.  Pullinger's  invention  ! 

Pullinger. 
Yes,  Rip  ;  a  priceless,  inestimable  gift  to  mankind. 

Rippingill. 

[Relieved.]    Oh,  your  luggage-label,  Jack  !    \_Faintly.] 
Ha,  ha  ! 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  149 

PULLINGER. 

No.no [Rousing  himself.]    But  I  haven't  wished 

you  joy.  Bless  you — [advancing  to  Mrs.  Lovette]  bless 
you  !  Apropos — the  most  ravishing  spot  in  creation  for  a 
honeymoon.  It's  in  Wales — [to  her]  jot  it  down  before  it 
escapes  me 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Rising    ami  reseating  herself  at  the   writing-table — 
modestly.]    You  bold  man,  you  ! 

PULLINGER. 

No  trains,  no  post,  no  papers — nothing. 

Rippingill. 
[Discontentedly.]    No  papers  ? 

PULLINGER. 

[To  Mrs.  Lovette.]    Two  L's 

Mrs.  Lovets 
[  Writing.  ]   T  w  o  L '  s 

PULLINGER. 

Two  L's — two  n's — two  y's — two  w's — one  i — t — h.  [A 
hand  on  Rippingill's  shoulder.]  And  now  you  proceed 
to  fire  your  first  bomb-shell. 

Rippingill. 

[Biting  lu's  nails.]    At  once  ? 

PULLINGER. 

[  Tugging  at  his  moustache.]  Send  a  message  to  your 
stables.  Your  carriage  is  not  at  the  disposal  of  Mrs. — 
Miss — your  late  wife  and  her  supporters. 

Rippingill. 
[Nervously.]    Not  ? 


L50  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

PULLINGER. 

You    require    it    this    morning,    to   take    a    lady   tor   a 
drive. 

R.IPPINGILL. 

Mrs.  Lovette  ? 

PULLINGER. 

Mrs.  Lovette.     Your  coachman  reports  to  the  house — 
and  the  bomb  bursts. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

\_Rising.~\    I  think  I  should  prefer  a  more  ceremonious 
method 

PULLINGER. 

Have    they   observed    ceremony  ?     [To   Rippingill.] 
Where's  your  bell?     [Discovering  the  telephone.']     The 

telephone — better 

[Mrs.  Lovette  retires  to  the  bay-window  as  Pul- 
linger  hobbies  to  the  telephone  and  rings  at  it 
vigorously. 

Rippingill. 

[Fortifying      himself.]       Revenge  —  revenge  —  re- 
venge   ! 

PULLINGER. 

[After  listening  at  the  telephone.]    Come  along,  Rip. 

Rippingill. 
Eh? 

PULLINGER. 

Sharp ! 

Rippingill. 
[Going  to   the   telephone  and  speaking  to  it.]    I  want 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  151 

Foley    .    .     .     Foley    .     .     .    What?     .     .    .    Oh ! 

[Leaving  the  telephone  in  a  hurry, .]    Avis  ! 

PULLINGER. 

Go  back ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

It's  Avis! 

PULLINGER. 

[Leading  him  to  the  instrument.]   Go  back  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

Avis   is   at   the  other  end  !     [At  the  telephone  again, 
mildly.']    Oh,  is  that  you,  my  pet? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Coming forward.]    No,  no  ! 

PULLINGER.    [By  the  piano.]  \  No,  no  ! 
Mrs.  Lovette.  j  Not  your  pet ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Over  the  top  of  the  piano.]    What's  the  matter  ? 

PULLINGER. 

You  are  calling  her  your  pet. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[  Taking  Pullinger' s  place. ]     I'm  your  pet. 

RlPPINGILL. 

1  beg  your  pardon.     The  force  of  habit 

Pullinger. 
Go  back  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Returning  to  the  telephone.]    Are  you  there  ?     .     .     . 


152  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Touching  the  carriage  ...  I  say,  touching  my  car- 
riage .  .  .  No,  my  carriage  .  .  .  Oh,  I  am  per- 
fectly well  aware  you  haven't  left  yet     .     . 

PULLINGER. 

Impudence  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Unblushing  effrontery  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

At  any  rate,  you  can't  have  it  this  morning  .  .  . 
Am  I  not  intelligible  ?  You  cannot  have  it  this  morning. 
[Rapidly.]  You  can't  have  it,  you  can't  have  it,  you 
can't  have  it,  you  shan't  have  it     ...     ! 

PULLINGER. 

[  Walking  away  to  the  right  and  sitting  on  the  settee.] 
Excellent ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

The  reason !  ...  By  all  means  .  .  .  Don't 
you  shout  at  me     .     .     . 

Mrs   Lovette. 
[Silting  in  the  chair  by  the  piano.]    Minx  ! 

RlPPINGILL. 

I  am  going  to  give  a  lady  a  drive.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  am 
.  .  .  Oh,  yes,  I  am  .  .  .  We'll  see  .  .  . 
Yes,  we  will  see  .  .  .  Certainly,  if  you  desire  to 
know  .  .  .  Mrs.  Lovette  .  .  .  [Very  clearly.] 
Mrs.  Stanley  Lovette  .  .  .  Oh!  .  .  .  [Recoil- 
ing.]  What  language     .     .     .     ! 

[He  drops  into  the  armchair  with  a  groan. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

What  language  ?  [Rippingill  is  silent,  closing  his 
eyes.]  A  secret  between  us  already,  Seymour !  What 
language  ? 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  153 

RlPPINGILL. 

She  has  described  me  as  a  beauty. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Shuddering.']    Vile  woman  ! 

PULLINGER. 

[Rubbing  his  hands  together, .]    However,  it's  done. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Gloomily.']    What  will  happen  next,  Mr.  Pullinger? 

PULLINGEK. 

Easily  answered.  Foley  or  the  coachman  will  come 
down  for  orders.  [  To  Rippingill.]  You  give  him  your 
orders,  and  a  note  to  Miss — Miss 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Meiklejohn 

Pullinger. 
Informing  her  of   your  engagement  to  Mrs.   Lovette. 
Immediate  result — an  exhibition  of  abject  humility. 

Mrs.   Lovette  and  Rippingill. 
[Nodding  their  heads  in  satisfaction.']     Abject  humility. 

Pullinger. 
[Rising.]    Shall  /draft  the  note? 

Rippingill. 
Thank  you,  Jack. 

[Pullinger  goes  to  the  writing-table,  where  he  sits 
and  prepares  to  write.  Mrs.  Lovette  joins 
him  and  stands  looking  over  his  shoulder. 

Pullinger. 
First  or  third  person  ? 


154  .1     WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Decidedly.]   Third. 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Rising.']   Third. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

I  wish  there  was  a  fourth. 

[Pulling  himself  together,  Rippingill  takes  the 
chair  which  is  standing  by  the  piano  and  plants 
it  firmly  in  the  middle  if  the  room.  Then  he 
seats  himself  astride  it,  defiaiitly. 

PULLINGER. 

[Writing.]    "  Mr.  Seymour  Rippingill " 

Rippingill. 

[Dictating.]  "  Mr.  James  Seymour  Rippingill  begs 
leave  to  present  his  compliments  to  Miss  Avis  Meiklejohn 
— to    Miss   Avis    Emily    Meiklejohn" — no,   she    is    Miss 

Meiklejohn  simply 

[Avis,  Christabel,  Trood  and  Webbmarsh 
enter  from  the  garden.  They  are  all  dressed 
for  church,  and  are  carrying  prayer-books. 

Avis. 
[Hearing  the  mention  of  her  name  and  advancing.]    I'm 
here. 

[Pullinger  jumps  up  and  Mrs.  Lovette  utters 
a  cry. 

Rippingill. 
[Getting  off  his  chair  hurriedly.]   Avis  ! 

Avis. 
What  are  you  up  to  ? 

Rippingill. 
Madam 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  155 

Avis. 
[Formidably.]    What  are  you  up  to? 

Rippingill. 
Miss  Meiklejohn 

Avis. 
Out  with  it !     Out  with  it  ! 

Rippingill. 
[After  a  pause,  bringing  Mrs.  Lovette  forward.']  My 
fiancee. 


Your 


Hay  nes ! 
Christabel ! 


Avis. 


Christabel. 


Webbmarsh. 


Rippingill. 

This  lady  will  honor  me  by  becoming  my  wife  directly 
any  legal  impediment  which  may  exist  is  removed. 

Avis. 
[Confronting  Mrs.    Lovette.]    Well,  this   is   a   nice 
little  game  of  tennis,  upon  my  word  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

Don't  presume  to  address  me.    [  To  Rippingill,  who 
is  by  her  side.]    Seymour 

Christabel. 
Absolutely  scandalous ! 


156  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Webbmarsh. 

[Producing  his  note-bonk,  and  sitting  on  the  settee  on  the 
right— to  Christabel.]  Hush!  One  of  the  scenes  a 
/aire. 

Avis. 

[  7 caring  off  her  gloves — to  Mrs.  Lovette.]  You 
worm  yourself  into  my  house  on  a  visit 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Your  house  ! 

Avis. 
Until   I   am  fetched  by  my  Aunt  Amy — certainly.     I 
wonder  if  any  of  the  spoons  and  forks  are  missing  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[To  Rippingill.]    Come  away. 

[Mrs.  Lovette  is  leading  Rippingill  towards 
the  hall  when  Avis  catches  hold  of  him  and 
forces  him  into  the  chair  in  the  centre  of  the 
room.  He  sits  there,  facing  the  window,  a 
passive  figure,  while  the  ladies  thoughtlessly 
emphasize  their  remarks  by  rapping  upon  his 
head. 

Avis. 
No  !     Not  before  I've  had  my  say  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Unless  you  moderate  your  tone 

Avis. 
Here's  a  pretty  turnabout  !       Yesterday  morning,  at 
breakfast,  you  were  all  for  the  advantages  of  remaining  a 
widow. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Yesterday  my  heart  had  not  been  melted 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  157 

Avis. 
Oh,  it's  a  case  of  hearts  and  darts,  is  it ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Hold  your  tongue-! 

Avis. 
I  sha'n't ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Yesterday  my  bosom  had  not  been  wrung  by  the  suf- 
ferings of  this  unfortunate  man. 

Avis. 
Ho,  ho!     He'll   soon  forget  his  misfortunes  in   your 
tender  care,  won't  he? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
He  will. 

Avis. 
M'yes.     You   made    short    work  of  poor  old  Lovette 
though,  didn't  you? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Oh! 

Avis. 
How's  that ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
If  I  had  a  pair  of  soiled  gloves  on,  I'd  slap  your  face. 

Avts. 
What ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 


Seymour 


.  i 


[Seizing  Rippingill,  she  drags  him  into  the  hall 
and  they  disappear. 


158  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  .1    SMILE 

Avis. 
[Flushed  and  exhausted.']    Ah,  ah,  ah  ! 

Christabel. 

|  Folding  her  in  an  embraced]  Sweetest,  be  calm — be 
calm  !  Why  upset  your  clear  self  over  what  is,  after  all, 
a  mere  trifle  ? 

Avis. 
[Releasing  herself  impatiently.]    Trifle  ! 

Christabel 
It   can   be    nothing  more.     Ah,  my  Avis  wouldn't  act 
like  the  naughty  dog  in  the  manger  ! 

Webbmarsh. 

[Interposing  himself  between  Christabel  and  Avis, 
note-book  and  pen  in  hand.']  Miss  Meiklejohn,  there  was 
an  observation  of  yours  to  Mrs.  Lovette 

Avis. 
[Silting  on  the  settee  on  the  left,  panting.]    Oh,  don't 
bother  me! 


Webbmarsh.  Christabel  !  j    {Painecl 
Christabel.  Haynes!       j     L 


Trood. 

[Who  has  been  looking  on  in  astonishment — advancing^] 
I  cannot  help  agreeing  with  Mrs.  Webbmarsh,  Avis. 

Avis. 
Can't  you  ! 

Trood. 

I  utterly  fail  to  see  how  Mr.  Rippingill's  domestic  con- 
cerns   


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  159 

Avis. 
His  domestic  !    [Hilling  the  palm  of  her  hand  with  her 
fist  forcibly .]    My  stars,  1  don't  intend  tu  stand  b>  quietly 
while  that  woman  steals  my  husband  from  under  my  very 
nose  ! 

Tkooo  and  the  Webbmarshes. 

Your  husband  ! 

\_The  suspended  doll  dances. 

Avis. 

[Pointing  to  the  doll.}    Ah ! 

[  With  a  yell,  she  pushes  aside  those  who  surround 

her  and  rushes  through  tiwkaTT 

Trood. 

[Looking  at  the  others.}    This  behavior  on  Avis's  part 
— most  unaccountable. 

Webbmarsh. 

{Closing  his  note-booh.']    It  is  at  this  point,  Christabel, 
that  fiction  will  disassociate  itself  entirely  from  fact. 

Trood. 
Hark! 

The  Webbmarshes. 

What's  that  ? 

[Trood  and  the  Webbmarshes  move  to  the  arch- 
way and  there  listen  intently.  The  doll  becomes 
still.  Pullinger  is  seen  in  the  bay-window, 
stupefied  by  the  events  which  are  taking  place, 
struggling  into  his  motor-costume. 

Webbmarsh. 
[To  Christabel.]     Sssh,  sssh,  sssh  !     Your  skirt  is 
rustling. 


160  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Christabel. 
{Clinging  to  WEBBMARSH.]    Haynes! 

Webbmarsh. 

To  whom  does  the  shrill  voice  belong  ? 

Christabel. 
To  Avis. 

Trood. 

I  can  hear  nobody  but  Avis. 

Christabel. 
{Stifling  a  shriek.']    Ah— h — h  ! 

Trood. 
There  goes  a  chair. 

Webbmarsh. 
Or  was  it  a  falling  body  ? 

Christabel. 

Somebody's  coming  ! 

Trood. 

Mrs.  Lovette  ! 

[Mrs.  Lovette,  breaking  through  the  group,  tot- 
ters across  the  room  and  drops  upon  the  settee  on 
the  left.  Trood  and  the  Webbm  ARSHESgalher 
round  her. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
{Hysterically^    Oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! 

Trood  and  the  Webbm  arshes. 
Mrs.  Lovette  ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Let  me  recover  my  breath,  and  then  I'll  get  out  of  this 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  161 

wild-beast  show.     The  low  baggage  !     The  fiend  in  hu- 
man form  !     The  she-devil! 

[Pullinger  appears  before  Mrs.  Lovette  fully 

accoutred,   even    to   the  wearing  of  a  hideous 

mask. 

PULLINGER. 

Madam 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[With  a  screech.~\     Ah !     [Recognizing  him  and 

leaping  to  herfeet.~]    You  ! 

PULLINGER. 

[Sadly.]  I  regret  to  gather  from  your  tone  that  my  face 
has  ceased  to  be  agreeable  to  you. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
It  has.     Considerate  of  you  to  hide  it. 

PULLINGER. 

[Removing  his  cap  and  mask  apologetically.']  Oh  ! 
[With  deep  remorse.]  Mrs.  Lovette,  I  freely  acknowledge 
that  my  calculations  have  not,  perhaps,  been  fulfilled  to 
the  letter. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Furiously .~\   They  never  are  ;  they  weren't  yesterday  ; 
they  never  will  be.     [Following  him  to  the  right  as  he  re- 
treats before  her.]     You — you — you  are  a  methodical,  in- 
genious, consummate  muddler  ! 

PULLINGER. 

Dear  lady ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Tearfully.]    Yes,  you  can  j — j— jot  that  down  before 
you  forget  it. 


L62  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

Christabel. 

[Looking  towards  the  hall.~\    Avis ! 

[Avis  enters  with    RiPPfNGILL,  her  arm  through 

his.  They  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
silently,  she  with  an  air  of  complacency,  he 
with  a  shifting'  eye. 

Trood. 


Avis  ! 
Rip! 

Mr.  Rippingill ! 


pullinger. 
Mrs.  Lovette. 


Avis. 

Ahem  !     [Presenting  Rwpingill  formally .]    Myjiance. 

[There    is    an    exclamation  from  Troou,    Pul- 

linger,  and  the  VVebbmarshes.     Assisted  by 

Pullinger,   Mrs.   Lovette  sinks  on  to  the 

settee  on  the  right. 

Trood. 
[To  Avis.]    False,  deceitful  girl  ! 

Avis. 

[Tossing  her  head.]  Not  at  all,  Vivian.  Only  I  can't 
bring  myself  to  resign  my  big  house,  and  the  servants, 
and  my  position  generally — to  that  lady  especially. 

Trood. 

Mo  !  Well,  it  may  be  that  Art  will  be  the  richer. 
[Going  to  Hie  door  on  the  left.']  For  the  future  she  will  be 
my  sole  goddess. 

Avis. 

[Sitting  with  Rippingill  on  the  settee  on  the  left.] 
Very  sensible  of  you,  dear  boy. 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE  163 

Trood. 
[Haughtily.']    Rippingill,  I  take  the  liberty  of  borrow- 
ing a  boat.     [To  the  others.]    Good-day. 

[lie  departs.    Mrs.  Lovette  rises. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[To  the  Rippingills,  witheringly.]    I  suppose   I  may 
have  the  shandrydan  to  carry  me  to  the  station?     I  shall 
enjoy  sitting  on  the  platform  for  a  couple  of  hours. 

Avis. 

[With  dignity.']    My  carriage  is  at  your  service. 

[As  Mrs.  Lovette  turns  away,  Rippingill  rises, 
t.y^fetmtjj  h^^ii^taMing-^r' 


Avis  gen t, ;  v- ie  tains  hjiBsJ^rMding  his  eoat^ 
tail. 


Dora 


Rippingill. 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
Don't  dare ! 

Rippingill. 
[Pitifully.]    Your — your  sense  of  humor ! 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
[Relenting  slightly . ]    Se y  mour 

Rippingill. 

[Gratefully.]    Eh  ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

It's  my  firm  conviction  we've  never  had  any.  [Moving 
towards  the  hall.]  That  is  why  we  have  made  such  fools 
of  ourselves. 

[Avis  tugs  at  Rippingill's  coat-tail  and  he  re- 
sumes his  seat. 


1(51  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A    SMILE 

PULLINGER. 

{Following  Mrs.  Lovette.]  My  automobile — if  my 
meaanicien  has  succeeded  in  repairing  the  tires — I  entreat 
you  to  go  in  it 

Mrs.  Lovette. 

[  Wheeling  round fiercely ■.]  No,  you  go  in  it.  Go  to  the 
place  you  recommended  to  me  for  my  honeymoon  ! 

PULLINGER. 

[Confused — holding  his  head.']    Recommended ? 

Mrs.  Lovette. 
The    place  with   two  L's!      [To  the  Webbmarshes.] 
Good-morning. 

[She  sweeps  through  the  hall  and  disappears  into 
the  garden. 

PULLINGER. 

[Addressing  Avis,  humbly.]  Miss  Meiklejohn,  I  am 
not  sanguine  enough  to  hope  that,  after  the  events  of  to- 
day, my  visits  here  will  continue  to  be  acceptable. 

Avis. 
[Rising.]    Extremely  kind  of  you  to  mention  it.    [  Walk- 
ing away  to  the  right.]    Your  influence  hasn't  been  a  very 
wholesome  one  for  him,  has  it  ? 

PULLINGER. 

[Wringing  Rippingill's  hand— in  a  choking  voice.] 
Rip — Rip — old  friend,  I  have  invented  a  pillow 

RlPPINGILL. 

[Feebly.]    A  pillow,  Jack  ? 

PULLINGER. 

The  Pullinger  Pillow,  a  Boon  for  the  Sleepless. 
[Glancing  at  Avis.]    You  shall  have  the  first  that  leaves 


A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE  165 

the  factory.     [To  Avis  ]    Good-morning.    [To  the  Webb- 
marshes.]    Good-morning. 

[He  departs  as  the  Webbmarshes,  who  have 
been  in  close  consultation  together,  come  for- 
ward. 

Christabel. 
[  To  Avis,  awkwardly. ~\    Avis,  dear,  Hay  nes  and  I  have 
just  been  talking  your  affairs  over  seriously.     Of  course 
I  can't  help  feeling  somewhat  disappointed. 

Avis. 
[Sitting  upon  the  settee  on  the  right,  swinging  her  foot, .] 
Sorry,  I'm  sure. 

Christabel. 
You  see,  I  place  our  friendship,  young  as  it  is,  upon 
such  a  high  pedestal.  However,  I  am  willing  to  believe 
that  what  you  have  done  has  been  at  the  dictation  of  a 
generous  and  forgiving  nature.  [To  Webbmarsh.] 
That  being  so ? 

Webbmarsh. 
That  being  so,   we  do  not    propose  to  withdraw  our 
protection   [with  playful  gallantry]   from  the  fair  Miss 
Meiklejohn. 

Avis. 
Thanks  awfully  ;  but  Mrs.   Hopkins,  the  coachman's 
wife,  is  a  comfortable,  motherly  woman. 

The  Webbmarshes. 
[Puzzled.~\    Mrs.  Hopkins? 

Avis. 
She  can  take  on  the  chaperoning  till  auntie  turns  up. 
And  she  won't  spread  herself  quite  so  much. 


1GG  A    WIFE    WITHOUT  A   SMILE 

Webbmarsh. 

[After  a  moment 's  /must-,  to  Christabel.]  My  darling, 
I  think  we  will  avail  ourselves  of  the  accommodation  af- 
forded by  Mr.  Pullinger's  automobile. 

Christ  abel. 

[In  afluny.~\    Quick,  Haynes,  or  he'll  start  without  us  ! 

|  They  make  for  the  garden. 

Webbmarsh. 

[To  Christabel   suddenly^]     Wait.     [Returning  and 

standing  before  Rippingill.]  Rippingill,  throughout  the 
many  years  we  have  known  each  other,  you  have  in- 
variably, both  in  conversation  and  in  composition,  split 
your  infinitives. 

Rippingill. 

[Looking  up,  in  complete  bewilderment]  What  has 
that  to  do  with  it  ? 

Webbmarsh. 

Nothing — except  that  the  practice  is  offensive  to  the 
cultured  mind.  1  have  stood  the  strain  till  now.  Good- 
day. 

[He  rejoins  Christabel  and  they  depart. 

Avis. 
Whew  !  Well,  I'm  still  hostess  ;  [rising]  I'd  better  be 
in  the  porch  to  see  'em  off  the  premises.  [Going.]  You 
may  eat  your  lunch  with  me  if  you  like,  Seymour — [turn- 
ing] with  me  and  Mrs.  Hopkins.  [Stamping  her  foot.] 
Oh,  for  heaven's  sake,  do  wake  up.  A  girl  doesn't  want 
a  man  perpetually   playing  the  giddy  goat  all  over  the 

shop  ;  but  a  husband  without  a  smile 

[She  leaves  him.  He  rises  painfully  and,  mount- 
ing a  chair,  proceeds  to  cut  down  the  hanging 
doll  with  his  pocket-knife. 

the  end 


THE  MAGISTRATE. 


A  Faroe  In  Three  Acta.    By  Arthur  \f. 

Pinero.  Twelve  male,  four  female  char- 
1  '  acters.  Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  all 
interior.  The  merit3  of  this  excellent  and  amusing  piece,  one  of  the  most  popu- 
lar of  its  author's  plays,  are  well  attested  by  long  and  repeated  runs  in  the 
prinoipal  American  theatres.  It  is  of  the  higbfest  class  of  dramatic  writing,  and 
is  uproariously  funny,  and  at  the  same  time  unexceptionable  in  tone.  Its  entire 
suitability  for  amateur  performance  has  been  shown  by  hundreds  of  such  pro- 
ductions from  manuscript  during  the  past  three  years.  Plays  two  hours  and 
a  half.    (1392.) 


A  Drama  In  Four  Acts.  By  ABTHTTB  W. 
Pinero.  Eight  male  and  five  female  charac- 
ters; scenery,  all  interiors.  This  is  a  "prob- 
lem "  play  continuing  the  series  to  which  "  The 
Profligate  "  and  "The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray" 
belong,  and  while  strongly  dramatic,  and  intensely  interesting  is  not  suited  %t 
amateur  performance.    It  is  recommended  for  Reading  Clubs.    (1895.) 


THE  NOTORIOUS 

MRS.  EBBSMITH. 


THE  PROFLIGATE.  | 


A  Play  in  Four  Acts.  By  Artht/r  "W.  Pinb- 
eo.  Seyerfmale  andjBjAJE^waile  characters. 
Scenery,  three  meffiors,  rather  elaborate ; 
costumes,  modern.  This  is  a  piece  of  serious  interest,  powerfully  dramatic  In 
movement,  and  tragic  in  its  event.  An  admirable  play,  hut  notnraited  for  ama- 
teur performance.    (1892.) 

THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  [  $^S33g££J2[%3FS^ 

'  male  characters.  Costumes,  -mod- 
ern ;  scenery,  three  interiors,  easily  arranged.  This  ingenlous_a»$r/raughabl© 
farce  was  played  by  Miss  Rosina  Vokes  during  her-last  seasorr^srjunerica  with 
great  success.  Its  plot  is  amusing,  its  action  rapid  and  full  of  incident,  its  dia- 
logue brilliant,  and  its  scheme  of  character  especially  rich  in  quaint  and  humor- 
ous types.  The  Hon.  Vere  Queckett  and  Peggy  are  especially  strong.  The  piece 
is  in  all  respects  suitable  for  amateurs.    (1894.) 


THE  SECOND 
MRS.  TANQUERAY. 


A  Play  In  Four  Acts.  By  Arthur  W. 
Pinero.  Eight  male  and  five  female  char- 
acters. Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  three 
interiors.  This  well-known  and  powerful 
play  is  not  well  suited  for  amateur  per- 
formance. It  is  offered  to  Mr.  Pinero's  admirers  among  the  reading  public  in 
answer  to  the  demand  which  its  wide  discussion  as  an  acted  play  has  created. 
(1394.)  Also  in  Cloth,  $1.00. 


SWEET  LAVENDER.  | 


A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts.  By  Arthub 
W.  Pinero.  Seven  male  and  four  female 
characters.  Scene,  a  single  interior,  the 
same  for  all  three  acts  ;  costumes,  modern  and  fashionable.  This  well  known 
and  popular  piece  is  admirably  suited  to  amateur  players,  by  whom  it  has  been 
often  given  during  the  last  few  years.  Its  story  is  strongly  sympathetic,  and  its 
comedy  interest  abundant  and  strong.    (1893.) 


TTTF"  TTTVTF'^  I  A  Comedy  In  Four  Acts.  By  Arthur  TV.  Pinero.  2!* 
■  *  x  ■"-■  *  xivi  i  «7.  I  male  and  geven  female  characters.  Scene,  a  single  ele- 
1  gant  interior ;  costumes,  modern  and  fashionable.  An 
entertaining  piece,  of  strong  dramatic  Interest  and  admirable  satirical  humor. 
(1892.) 


THE  WEAKER  SEX.  | 


A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts.    By  Arthttb 
W.  Pinero.    Eight  male  and  eight  female 
1  characters.    Costumes,  modern ;  scenery, 

two  Interiors,  not  difficult.  This  very  amusing  comedy  was  a  popular  featuro  of 
the  repertoire  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kendal  in  this  country.  It  presents  a  plot  ot 
strong  dramatic  interest,  and  its  incidental  satire  of  "  Woman's  Rights"  em- 
plovs  somo  admirably  humorous  characters,  and  inspires  many  very  clever  lines. 
Its  leading  characters  are  unusually  even  in  strength  and  prominence,  which 
makes  it  a  very  satisfactory  piece  for  amateurs.    (1894.) 


■flfrlSfrftrTShi^iftfcrigM'fr- 


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